Above Ground

by Yin

AU. Dexter Grif really only ever wanted to keep himself and his sister out of trouble, and maybe get a few naps in while he was at it. But chance encounters end up putting him in the thick of a battle to save his home. ...Figures. {Grimmons, other pairings mentioned in fic.}

11. Chapter 11

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 Eleven:

The noise coming from down the hall was unmistakable.

Washington sighed loudly at the all too familiar sound of Leonard Church's voice raised in frustration. It was no doubt over something he thought was idiotic that the purple-armored medic on his team had said or done. That had seemed to be Church's routine for the mission, having started it the whole way down here from Above Ground.

Dubious as the talks were, and Washington certainly knew that better than some, the Above Grounders were supposed to be in the Slums for a mission of "peace." On paper, at least.

Washington tried not to roll his eyes at the use of that particular word considering what the real motivation behind the whole fiasco was. He found it was almost impossible though, particularly when even part of the bodyguard representation for Above Ground was engaged in constant yelling fits of rage.

He almost felt bad for the hotel staff here at the only real "inn" of sorts in Level One. Already this situation was no doubt tense enough for the general populace without having to hear Church's rants.

Although, at the moment, Washington was too lost in his own troubled thoughts to really care all that much. For him, Church's loud voice had simply turned into an only mildly annoying disturbance in the background.

The message Washington had received about his orders had once again been vague on purpose and reasoning. Still, it was clear enough what the Freelancer was expected to do, which tended to be Hargrove's habit whenever he communicated with him.

Washington was supposed to play the part of the "good little soldier" for the duration of the meetings, especially whenever Carolina was present for them. It wouldn't be good to rouse her suspicions anymore about those still technically serving under her command, after all.

Other Council agents were going to be actively scouring the tunnels and the Slums proper in the meantime. They were looking for whatever it was that Chairman Malcom Hargrove was so intent on finding down here that he even set up this whole obvious farce of a diplomatic gesture.

Washington would be an idiot if he said it didn't extremely bother him that he was still being kept in the dark. Nothing really changed with Above Ground military though, he supposed, no matter who you worked for. He suspected that the mercenaries and soldiers Hargrove considered more "loyal" most likely knew exactly what was going on. Or at least had a much more concrete version of things than he did.

Such as Wyoming, who had more or less unofficially defected from Freelancer whenever he acted alone. Not that Washington could really judge him too harshly given his own actions, though he couldn't say he was too keen on his "teammate" all the same.

Having to work with Wyoming in any capacity was generally straining now given what had happened a year ago. That was when Wyoming had tried killing Washington for being a "traitor" both to Freelancer and, he later realized, potentially to Hargrove. All because Washington had talked to North for a few seconds instead of immediately putting a bullet in his friend's brain.

His "So sorry, chap, don't know what came over me" routine afterwards wasn't too convincing either. But, the white-armored Freelancer hadn't revealed to either the Council or to Carolina what had really occurred as far as he knew, so Washington didn't have much choice but to keep a lid on it as well.

It wouldn't do for suspicions to get raised against him either way. Plus, Washington knew the only reason Wyoming was keeping his mouth shut. It was because he wasn't in a position yet where he could risk Carolina or someone else higher up in Project Freelancer knowing what he'd done.

Besides, Washington would never trust Locus or any of the members of his personal kill squad.

In fact, Locus was the main reason he had convinced a good friend to permanently leave Above Ground. Washington realized that the steel and sage-armored mercenary had been just as aware of her involvement with the information leaks to the Resistance as he had been.

Washington might be willing to work for Hargrove at the moment for his own needs, but he refused to stand by and allow someone he had considered a teammate and friend get killed by one of the Chairman's hired killers. Especially just because she still had something akin to a conscience.

It was one of the reasons he hadn't really tried fighting North either. Though he suspected that was probably a weakness that was going to end up getting him killed at some point. Either someone was going to turn on him like had happened already far too often, or he'd get found out about being too lenient and eventually get shot. …Neither were outcomes he was particularly looking forward to.

All Washington could really do right now was play along and hope the whole situation didn't screw him over anymore than it already had.

It was almost time for the Resistance leader to arrive anyways.

He sighed again. He stepped through the doorway to make his way down to the first floor where the "talks" would be held only to lock eyes with Carolina. She was on her way past his room.

"Ready?" she asked, voice curt as always. Carolina had her helmet under her arm, just as he did. He had planned on putting it on as he made his way to the stairs.

"Just about." He inclined his head slightly, noticing after a brief moment that she wasn't heading in the direction of the stairway that was closest to the designated conference room, "You aren't going to be sitting in on the first round of discussions?"

"No, I figured you'd be more than enough Freelancer presence for these…" she paused. He could see her facial muscles twitch slightly as she fought the urge to make a face while trying to come up with a term for what he knew she most likely thought was bullshit, "…initial talks. I'll be running perimeter sweeps. Just in case."

More than likely there was more to it than that, but Carolina wasn't the most trusting person out there. Not that she'd ever been, really, but it had gotten much worse after…everything. She'd been particularly ill at ease with him since the request for this mission came listing Washington and no one else from Freelancer as requested personnel. All around the same time as Wyoming had set up personal leave, interestingly enough.

Whether or not it was due to her competitive spirit or her suspicions about him, Washington honestly couldn't say. It was very likely perhaps a combination of both.

"I see." He felt a little relieved, honestly. Carolina was definitely scrutinizing him closely these days. Though, if she thought he was up to something, she hadn't yet confronted him over it.

"Private Simmons will be sitting in with you initially." She looked at him pointedly then, her intense green stare almost burning as she tried gauging his reaction, "As was also requested by Chairman Hargrove."

"What?" he blinked, taken aback. Out of all the things she could have said, he had not been expecting that. It was definitely news to him.

Washington had assumed that the only reason Florida's former squad was there was because Carolina had brought them along given the fake nature of the talks. Also, probably because Freelancer didn't have too many available personnel at the moment.

"You didn't know." Carolina almost sounded surprised at his response. Washington quickly realized she'd leaked the information on purpose to test him, which meant she more than likely suspected a lot more about these peace talks than Hargrove seemed to think she did, "His name was also on the requested personnel list from the Council."

"But, why?"

It didn't make sense, not really. Simmons was far from a top-tier soldier. Personally requesting any member of Florida's squad given their less than stellar record was…

"I have my suspicions." Carolina said quietly, promptly clamping down on saying anything else. That basically meant she wasn't going to reveal her thoughts to a subordinate she wasn't convinced she could trust anymore.

Washington could understand that. Really. He tried reminding himself it was stupid to get even remotely upset over it given what he was actually hiding from his team leader, but the "rookie kid" part of him still felt like she'd just punched him in the gut.

"Does he know?" Washington finally managed to ask once he quelled down that inner juvenile response.

He didn't recall Simmons being any more nervous than usual for the mission the last time he'd seen him. Given how self-conscious the younger man usually was…

"No." she shook her head adamantly, "As far as any of his squad knows, they're only here because I gave the order."

So that explained why she brought all of them along. Only having one member would have potentially gotten Simmons curious enough to want to learn more about something he was probably better off not knowing anything about.

"They're morons and sorry excuses for soldiers, but they are under my command." Carolina's voice was firm, dangerous, "If Florida's squad gets dragged even more into Hargrove's power plays I will have something to say about it."

A threat, then. One that she perhaps somewhat suspected he'd pass along.

Washington nodded slightly: "Understood."

He paused for a moment, not entirely sure of how to continue the conversation, but feeling like he should say something. Especially given the accusatory regard Carolina was holding him in.

There were a lot of things he'd done that he wasn't happy about, and there were probably going to be quite a few more of them when all was said and done. But, this was definitely not one of them. He felt as if it was important to get that across to her. Either for their own sake as teammates (for all the good it had done either of them in the end) or for his own given that it was another teammate's squad also involved (good man, shame Florida was killed as he was).

"I'll…keep an eye on him. The others too. I don't want Florida's squad getting dragged into something either."

That much, at least, was true. He couldn't be honest to Carolina about a lot of things if he wanted to finally get away from Project Freelancer's shadow, but her revelation had put him further on edge.

Hell, he hadn't even voiced his suspicions in regards to Church to anyone yet because he wasn't sure of Hargrove's intentions either. He personally knew Simmons. Even more than that, he rather liked the soldier. It was never a good thing to be unknowingly scrutinized by people that cold and indifferent.

Washington had learned that the hard way, himself. Had experienced it through Epsilon's fractured memories before he'd even realized the full extent of how he'd been used afterwards.

"Good. I'll hold you to that, Wash." Her use of his old nickname seemed to be the most indication he would get that she accepted his words as being sincere. He stood quietly as she turned briskly and went on her way.

"Wash?"

An unfamiliar female voice spoke up behind him. He turned around, surprised to see a dark-skinned woman with bobbed dark brown hair looking at him in amusement.

He frowned at the intrusion. Her voice seemed oddly familiar, as did the white and purple armor she was wearing.

"That's a nickname." He responded blankly to the teasing way she'd said "Wash" earlier, not really sure why he had to elaborate on that to a total stranger.

"Oh, I know! You're Agent Washington." She exclaimed cheerily, "I just can't picture you having such a cute sounding nickname. …Or someone like Agent Carolina actually using it."

He wished he'd had his helmet on then to cover the embarrassed blush that formed on his face in response. She made it sound like "Wash" was a little kid's name. He tried not to think of C.T.'s annoyance at him still referring to her as '"Connie" and failed miserably.

"It's not that cute." Washington muttered lamely, knowing it was a throwback defense mechanism to when he'd been considered the "cute kid brother" of Freelancer. He despised recalling those bittersweet memories anymore.

"Aw, no need to be shy!" The woman did not seem to get the real reason behind his discomfort, "It's fun. You should see the nicknames I give to some of my patients." She then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Apparently 'Fire Hose' isn't a PC name for a guy with a chronic bladder infection. Who knew?"

"Patients?" he ignored the rather disturbing last part of what she had just said and focused on that instead.

"Yeah, I'm a doctor." She looked at him, surprised by his reaction, "I'm here in case there's an emergency with one of the Council members."

"But DuFresne…"

"Is technically here in a capacity as a bodyguard along with the rest of his squad." She frowned, "I'm not sure they'd want him actually administering emergency care to anyone. He's a nice guy, but his healing skills leave a lot to be desired. Like his aloe vera treatment for gunshot wounds, for instance. Really more fascinating to see firsthand how it leads to infection and ultimately loss of limbs than providing any actual medical benefits. Not that the infection progression isn't exciting!"

She was still smiling brightly, but Washington felt more than just a little chill at her words.

"I guess you guys just weren't paying attention to the non-combat personnel, huh?" her grin widened, "We traveled down here together and everything!"

Ah, so that was why she seemed vaguely familiar.

"Um…" he was drawing a blank on how to actually respond to her, shrugging his shoulders slightly in apology for the oversight.

In truth, beyond casting a quick glance over the people assigned to the peace talks, he hadn't really paid much attention to any of the people who weren't higher up on the food chain. It was a pretty big oversight on his part. However, his mind had been more preoccupied with the people he knew weren't on the list, but would also be in the Slums around the same time.

Plus, it wasn't like he was the greatest when it came to holding conversations either. He was halfway hoping maybe the doctor would get fed up with his lack of drive to continue this odd dialogue and leave.

"But, I figured as much, so I decided it would only be polite to introduce myself first before the meeting started and things got busier."

Damn it. His luck really did suck!

She thrust her hand out, the beaming expression on her face seeming to get impossibly larger, "My name's Emily Grey. Let me know the next time you get shot. I'll try to get you as close to good as you'll be getting afterwards!"

The door to one of the neighboring rooms slid open as Washington was still trying to process the bizarreness of Doctor Grey's introduction. She…couldn't actually be that chipper at the potential of a comrade getting injured, could she?

Richard "Dick" Simmons exited the room in full armor sans helmet with a heavy, almost relieved-sounding sigh. No wonder, really, as Church's loud voice was only just muffled by the closing of the door behind him.

"Simmons." Washington was rather relieved to see a familiar face.

The younger man had been lost in thought and he started slightly at seeing two other people in the hallway, "Oh. Uh, hey, Agent Washington." He squeaked out awkwardly.

It seemed Simmons wasn't quite sure how to approach Washington anymore since the whole Epsilon incident. On one hand, Washington was upset by that since he liked the kid. On the other hand, he was grateful for it because he liked him as well.

He'd rather anyone he used to consider remotely tolerable in the past not try to actively engage him all that much, given everything.

"Is he still going at it?" Washington asked, pointing to the closed door of the room Simmons had just exited from.

"Sort of…n—not as bad as before though." Simmons' voice had taken on a sheepish quality due to his nervousness, "Doc went out for a breath of fresh air and Church just wanted to vent his frustrations."

Makes sense, he supposed, though Church's volume could use some work. Even if not technically on duty at the moment, any Above Ground soldier going out to explore potentially hostile areas on their own was a rather frustrating notion their teammates to have to deal with.

Washington would know. He had caused more than his fair share of teammate hair-pulling due to his more scatter-brained tendencies when he had first joined Freelancer.

"I'm sure he'll be fine." Grey spoke up conversationally from behind them, "You'd be surprised at all of the stuff DuFresne walked away from during his medic training. His patients, well…" she shrugged, "It's a good thing the supervisors were always there!"

"Uh…" Simmons stared at her, both unsure as to who exactly she was judging by the blank look on his face and never exactly being the best when it came to talking to women.

C.T. had joked about that once, Washington remembered. Because of that she'd gone out of her way to befriend Simmons, just to see if it was possible.

Grey didn't seem to notice though, continuing the conversation as if she was chatting with an old friend instead of someone who didn't know who she was, "Though your squad leader might want to go in for some stress management courses. You can get some really nasty side effects from too much anger. Bleeding ulcers are one of my favorites."

"F—favorites?" Simmons' human green eye widened quite a bit at her statement.

"Though your squad never comes by for check-ups much, does he?" she continued on thoughtfully before fixing a pointed look at Washington, "As a matter of fact, neither do you, Agent Washington."

"Yeah, I don't…do clinics very well. Or hospitals." His hand subconsciously went to rub the back of his neck where the neural implants had been. It was only slightly harder making out the indentations and scarring there with the combination of his gloved hand and the turtle neck of the black underclothing worn beneath their armor.

The motion wasn't lost on either of the other two persons in the hallway. Though, thankfully, they seemed to know better than to broach that kind of a powder keg subject.

Instead, Grey turned to Simmons once more and said appreciatively, "But you're always pretty perfunctory with your visits to the medical facilities according to appointment logs, Private Simmons. An accommodating patient is almost as welcome as a comatose one." She leaned forward to confide in a whisper, "They're the best though because they don't argue with you at all."

Simmons glanced questioningly at Washington, who could only shrug sympathetically. Doctor Grey's views on her trade were a little unnerving to say the least, despite her general eagerness towards her profession.

"I—I have to go." He muttered lamely, "Routine checkups."

"Because of your cybernetics, right?" she nodded sagely, "That particular project was really fascinating from a medical stance."

Simmons said nothing, suddenly finding the floor to be rather fascinating.

Washington frowned, unsure about the soldier's reaction.

Doctor Grey noticed it as well, suddenly looking rather apologetic, "I should've guessed that it would be a sore subject. Sorry." She leaned forward again to make sure that she had eye contact with Simmons to showcase her sincerity, "It's kind of why I didn't bring up you-know-what-with-you-know-who either."

She turned her dark brown eyes to look directly at Washington when she said that last part, causing him to raise a blond eyebrow incredulously.

"And, yet, you just did." He stated dryly.

"Not by name." she grinned and turned back to Simmons, seemingly deciding he wasn't going to become further upset by what she had said earlier, "Anyways, next time you're scheduled for a maintenance check-up, I'd be your friend for life if you made a request for Doctor Grey to be able to observe it!"

Her smile was more encouraging than the teasing one she'd given to an exasperated Washington moments before, "I've been asking and asking, but my superiors never let me see any of the cybernetic experiments."

"Um…" Simmons turned to Washington again, who shrugged once more. She seemed odd, but didn't seem to be intentionally harmful even if her viewpoints could be a bit unnerving at times. Though that decision was ultimately up to Simmons: "S—sure, I'll ask for next time. But, if you requesting to observe as a doctor doesn't do anything, I'm not sure what my asking will do. They really don't even let me schedule the times for the appointments or anything."

She shrugged, "You never know, though. Besides, if you get injured here, I'll get to treat it and see some cybernetics in action! I consider that a win-win for me!" She noticed the two men staring at her and looked somewhat embarrassed, "…Hoping that doesn't happen, of course!"

"Right." Washington sighed, "We'll try to be grateful patients if it does occur."

"You guys are the best!" she seemed elated at the assurance, "You know, I think this might be the longest conversation I've ever had with any soldiers."

The Freelancer shook his head slightly, "I cannot imagine why."

With a final wave goodbye, the oddly cheerful doctor took her leave. She cast one look at the door behind Simmons as if she was debating knocking on it to introduce herself to the occupant right then and there, but apparently the continued raised voice coming from inside was enough for her to decide not to do so.

"She…seemed nice." Simmons said hesitantly after she left, "A little eager but…Doc's kind of the same way."

"Here's to hoping she can back up that enthusiasm with actual ability though." Washington responded, deciding not to comment on the Doc comparison given everything he'd heard about the medic's decidedly questionable skills in the medical field.

The redhead gulped nervously, "You think we'll need medical attention on this mission?"

Washington frowned, "It's always better to be prepared for the worst case scenario, Simmons." He cautioned.

"R-right." His shoulders deflated at that, "I hope we won't have to though."

The last part was spoken so quietly it was hard to pick up. The Freelancer sighed in response, resisting the urge to pat the more timid soldier on the shoulder.

Looking at him, Washington remembered Carolina's comment about Simmons and frowned once more.

Why would the Council have singled him out particularly?

Church, he could have almost understood given his own suspicions about the de facto leader of Florida's squad. But Simmons…

He was almost tempted to say something about it, to tell Simmons (warn him, maybe?), but decided against it.

Washington could understand why Carolina hadn't said anything to the maroon-armored soldier either, all things considered.

No good came from the Council being interested in you. If Simmons didn't know about it, it was probably best that it stayed that way. At least for now. Washington would look into it though, just for his own peace of mind.

"I hope so too." He responded truthfully to Simmons instead.

The younger soldier glanced at him then, surprised, and Washington chose to act as if he had said nothing: "Come on. We need to get ready for the first dialogue."

---

The atmosphere in Level One had changed quite a bit after Above Ground's retaliation on the Slums.

That was to be expected, though. A massacre like that was bound to have a lasting effect on people.

Level One had been viewed as a bright spot in the community before. The Slums were always going to be dingy, cramped, and far from ideal real estate. Still, Level One had always had a "brighter" quality to it due to the massive amount of space overhead. The cavern's ceiling was high above comparatively to the ceilings of the floors underneath.

Even the lighting seemed brighter somehow. It was more akin to what perhaps actual daylight could be like when it was working properly. Or, at least, it was the closest thing people down here could compare to daylight since most had never actually experienced true daylight for themselves.

It didn't happen all the time, but the lights worked certainly more on Level One than elsewhere in the Slums. In fact, a whole lot of effort had been put into making the space feel more accommodating, less cramped. It had been the ideal space to be at in the Slums.

The businesses had been more higher-end. The construction of much-needed residential areas in Level One had also meant more work in general, and the larger residential areas also meant less bodies stuffed like sardines in the older lower levels.

Most people enjoyed taking trips to Level One just for the ambiance, even if they had no reason really to go.

Then all of that had changed in one single instant.

No one really wanted to be in Level One for quite some time afterwards. There was this hesitancy that would fall whenever one even broached the subject in conversation.

Naturally, though, necessity and human survival instinct caused that to change overtime. Grim as it was, body disposal had to be seen to. Repairs and maintenance to the rafters continued for survival's sake. Construction and reconstruction being a necessary way of life for those living below the planet's surface, after all.

So, life continued and new residential areas and businesses were built over the burned out remains of what had stood there before. People once more began to go about their lives as they always had.

Still, the general feel of the place still had a muted quality to it compared to the vibrancy and almost hope it had held before. Pretty much everyone in the Slums had known someone or of someone who had been lost in the incident.

Smoke and fire damage was still visible on the floors, walls, and rafters or on the recycled materials that were damaged and used for things beyond fixing structures. They couldn't waste material, after all. It wasn't practical.

Remnants of destroyed buildings and objects that still had yet to be removed from the area were waiting for pick up in junk lots near rebuilding sites. There were even some faded rust colored splotches here and there that had been overlooked in the immediate cleanup near punctured points in grounds and walls that were obviously bullet holes.

Seeing those still all too constant reminders of what had happened caused wounds that always seemed to feel far too fresh to bubble inexplicably to the surface. They made the general feel of Level One a bit different from how it had been before in subtle-if-not-overly-obvious ways.

It was getting better though. Surely, but slowly. The people residing in the Slums were nothing if not resilient. They were survivors and adapters, through and through. All-in-all, the reconstruction effort given what had happened was quite impressive.

But, still, sometimes being there in general brought back unpleasant memories.

For whatever reason, whenever Dexter Grif visited Level One now he always thought he smelled a faint trace of smoke in the air.

He knew some spots where the fires had been particularly intense still held a lingering smell of smoke to them. Other areas not so much now that they'd been thoroughly cleaned. The perceived smell always triggered a not-so-fun gagging reflex in him. Even when he was breathing filtered air from within the confines of his helmet and therefore couldn't be really breathing in smoke.

It had gotten so bad that he finally just unclasped his helmet so that he wouldn't inadvertently suffocate while wearing it. That helped calm him down, a little bit at least, as he started taking in huge gulps of air just to refill his lungs.

Fortunately for him, if anyone noticed his initial reaction to being in the area again they were kind enough not to address it. So he was, more or less, able to clamp down on his physical reaction in silence.

"Man, the people in charge of Above Ground are some kind of assholes, huh?" Tucker spoke up mere seconds after Grif had gotten his gasping under control, looking away to give the orange-armored soldier a chance to put his helmet back on without making a big issue over what had happened.

He had been wearing his helmet since they arrived, though it was easy enough to picture the scowl most likely plastering Lavernius Tucker's face as he asked the question.

Just as easy as it was to picture the quizzical eyebrow lift C.T. most likely made in response, "You mean that was ever up for debate?"

The "volunteer" guards were standing in front of the building that would be serving as the location for the supposed peace talks scheduled for later that day. It had been one of the first buildings that had been rebuilt after the attack, and arguably one of the finer-looking ones in all of the Slums.

The building had been something of a hotel of sorts, a fancier place to put your head down for the night than most people in the Slums could afford. The place was often used for vacations or honeymoons or big celebrations whenever someone had actually managed to save up enough money for them. There were rooms set up for business gatherings on the lower floors as well. One of those conference rooms would be where the negotiations were supposed to occur.

Figured that the Council would pick that particular spot to hole up in while staying here. Wouldn't want to see how people down here usually lived, after all.

Tucker regarded his newest teammate in annoyance following her remark, "No, I mean, they just had to choose this place for their fake dialogues. It's bullshit."

No argument there. Arranging a discussion at Level One, the one spot in the Slums that was a constant reminder of what you as a military power were capable of doing if really pissed off, was pretty asshole-y.

Judging by all of the unfamiliar people milling about in plain civilian clothes, but with hard eyes and hands twitching towards easily to pull out concealed weapons, the Council's supposedly "small contingent" of guards was more than likely bullshit too.

Figures.

Members of the Council in charge of Above Ground weren't going to pointlessly risk their own lives by going to a place as unnecessary and dangerous as they often viewed the Slums. At least not without a whole lot of guarantee that they would be well-protected.

Grif glared at one of the people looking over at them with more than passing interest, though the effect was undoubtedly lost by his helmet. The guy promptly looked away as if he suddenly found the wall he'd been standing next to vastly more interesting than it had been mere seconds before.

Yeah, that was real fucking subtle.

Donut put his hand under his helmet in a contemplative fashion, "Where else could we have them though? It would be way too risky going to Above Ground, if you ask me."

Grif harrumphed: "Besides, they wouldn't let us up there."

"There isn't a ton of space in the lower levels either. Plus, you'd have to spruce them up with paint and a few good accents!" His pink-clad teammate was completely missing the point with that last comment, though he was probably right as much as Grif would never admit it.

A lot of the lower levels could use some more color beyond brown, gray, and grayer. Or, as Grif liked to call that last one: "dirty gray."

"They would certainly take issue with having to go any further down into the Slums as well, unfortunately." C.T. murmured, glancing at the group before her rather apologetically for having said that about where most of them had been born.

"More than likely it's also meant to be a reminder of what's in store for all of us should they ever change their minds again. Typical scare tactic."

They all started slightly at Tex's voice coming from behind them. The red-haired woman was dressed in what appeared to be a plain clothes variation of her usual armor outfit. Either that, or her entire wardrobe consisted of nothing but combat vests and boots in various shades of black just for the Hell of it. Which was honestly quite possible, considering they never usually saw her dressed in anything but her armor.

Right. The civilian clothes were because she, North, and York were going to also be on guard duty at times throughout the talks, but would be doing so incognito. They were to be slipping in-and-out amongst passerby to keep a closer eye on the Above Ground soldiers who were more than likely doing the same.

Easy enough to imagine North and York doing so, but Tex not so much. Still, she'd more than likely be able to intimidate someone into being on their best behavior either while wearing her armor or not.

"I was right. See?" Tucker bitterly commented. No wonder he was on edge, given what he had actually lost here, "They're assholes."

"Which was already pretty well-established." The former Freelancer cut in briskly, "Anything out of the ordinary?"

"You mean beyond the guys who are clearly Above Ground military failing to act anywhere near remotely casual?" Grif asked.

She nodded.

"Not a fucking thing, then." Tucker muttered, "We've been running checks around the building's perimeters too until we're allowed officially inside. Nothing out of the ordinary in the area either."

"So, at the moment, beyond violating how many guards they said they'd be potentially bringing with them, it doesn't seem as if they're transgressing in any other ways at this location at least." C.T. summarized.

"Right. But who knows if they didn't help sneak in even more people who are now exploring other parts of the place?" Tucker shuddered slightly, "Not a pleasant concept."

"A highly possible one though." Tex nodded in agreement and her eyes narrowed darkly, "Even the fact that they so obviously brought more guards with them they could almost justify as being out of concern for their Council members' safety so long as they manage to stay on their best behavior. Which means that particular angle isn't a strong enough leverage for Kimball to use as a counter during these discussions."

"If these discussions are going to actually be remotely viable in the first place." The other former Freelancer with them stated, her voice and mannerisms serious in contemplation.

Tex inclined her head slightly, still looking deep in thought.

"How about further away from this area, though—where you, North, and some of the others are patrolling? Anything happening there?" Tucker asked, not really liking the silence they had fallen into momentarily.

She shook her head, "More of the same. York couldn't find anything of note in the hotel during his sweep of it the other night either." Tex frowned, "Thankfully it seems like most of the civilians are staying out of the area unless they have to be here, which will make things easier if something does occur."

That was to be expected, especially after Kimball had arranged an information leak about what was going to happen to the various news sites and gossip mongers operating throughout the Slums.

People were understandably apprehensive at the idea of being anywhere remotely close to the Above Ground presence in Level One. It was something the Resistance leader had been counting on to help avoid potential injury amongst the general populace.

Tex was right. Not having to worry as much about potential civilian casualties would be a big help for them.

"But we will be strengthening patrols in the mines and other levels of the Slums as soon as the talks begin. Just in case."

"Sounds like the best plan. All things considered." C.T. said quietly.

"So you morons stay on your guard here." Tex stared pointedly at Grif, Tucker, Donut, and Caboose as she spoke. While Lopez didn't speak their language, apparently he counted as being competent enough by her standards to not get tossed into the group currently getting stare-down mode: "And listen to whatever the fuck Kimball or myself tells you to do later on. Got it?"

Grif muttered under his breath, "Who made you our fucking mother?" before his brain registered how stupidly dumb that was.

"…What was that?"

Tex glared at him and moved closer as though to punch him in the crotch when Tucker joked, "Dude. You of all people should know not to say that. I mean, isn't your mom in a freak show or something?"

"Oh, yeah!" Donut chimed in happily, "Kaikaina said once that she was both the bearded lady and the fat lady."

That seemed to deflate Tex's anger somewhat, because she lowered her threatening fist and gave a smirk at the obvious embarrassment plastered all over Grif's body language. His embarrassment was due more though to having his balls be literally saved by Tucker and Donut, as well as his little sister (of all people!) from his own "insert foot into mouth" tendencies than any actual truth to the statement.

"…You know that's just something Kai says to cover up why she really left." He said to Tucker, sighing.

His friend was grinning even though Grif couldn't see it because of his helmet. He was sure of it, "Yeah, but maybe there's a little truth to it, huh?"

He'd almost prefer it if there was as well. Would certainly be a better story to tell than that she had just decided she couldn't be bothered with raising two kids on her own and just bailed like their father had earlier. It was probably why Kai always told her variation of events in the first place, and why Grif never really bothered correcting her when they were growing up.

Tex rolled her eyes and glared at him for a slightly longer time. Apparently the comments about Grif's past had deflected her earlier annoyance enough to accept the now nervous energy he was directing at her as something of an apology. A lucky break, that, but he really shouldn't push it anymore. It was not good for his lower half in particular.

"Whatever. Just be sure to take this seriously."

"Of course." Grif straightened his back slightly, "We don't need you to tell us that this time."

Since Grif wasn't being disrespectful or dismissive this time, Tex seemed fine with his response being a little testy. Maybe she'd just wanted confirmation that all of them knew what was at stake. Who really knew with her? For a moment, she continued to regard the somewhat chubby man in an almost bemused manner, "Remind me to chat with your sister more."

He groaned and her smirk widened. Tucker's grin was no doubt twice as large now, as Donut followed this train of thought with a ramble on how much fun Kai was as C.T. and Caboose nodded along in agreement. Grif was fairly certain all of them probably had ever widening smiles on their faces underneath their helmets the more that his exasperation grew.

Not that he could really blame them, he supposed. They all needed some excuse to not be so on edge.

…He just wasn't too keen on how often that excuse tended to be him.

When Tex finally had her fill of the orange-armored soldier's embarrassment, she left with another warning for them to stay on guard.

After Tex left, Caboose decided to speak up. The Resistance fighter had actually been surprisingly quiet for most of the day. Probably because he hadn't been really sure what they were doing, got bored, and had let his mind wander.

"I wish Freckles could be here. He likes quiet chatting times like this." Caboose lamented, quickly adding, "Also, he likes possibly shooting things. Or people."

Tucker sighed, "Caboose, we've been through this. People would panic if they saw an assault droid on Level One."

"But, that would only be because they don't know him yet!" his teammate interjected, "Freckles just loves meeting new people."

"You're confusing 'meeting' and 'shooting' again, aren't you?"

"That's just how he says hello!" Caboose had a way too cheerful way of looking at his killer robot's "shoot first, don't bother asking" tendencies.

"I think it's swell that he's helping with patrols." Donut said amicably, in a bid to try to alleviate Caboose's mood.

Grif stared at his teammate incredulously, "…You mistook 'swell' for another word, right?"

The younger man tapped his finger on his helmet close to where his chin would be thoughtfully, "Nope, I don't think so!" After a moment's pause: "Unless you mean 'swell' as in 'swollen,' in which case—"

"Por favor, deja de hablar." {"Please stop talking."}

Donut was no doubt beaming at the up-until-then-silent Lopez, "See, Lopez thinks it is great too, Caboose!"

"En serio, me gustaría ser Freckles en estos momentos. Él no tiene que aguantar esta mierda." {"Seriously, I wish I was Freckles right now. He doesn't have to put up with this shit."}

"I made sure Smith takes him out on extra long walks while I am not there." Caboose told his pink-armored friend, "Hopefully he will go right to sleep for him afterwards."

"Sure. Because physical activity really can be a drain on a robot." Tucker was probably on his second eye roll of this particular conversation.

"…I don't know, Tucker, naps are pretty powerful things." Grif pointed out, "Who are we to say machines can't enjoy them either?"

"You're kidding, right?"

He shrugged. Maybe imagining Freckles enjoying a nap was a pretty far-fetched concept, but Grif was never one to underestimate what a well-timed rest could do for a person. Or assault droid, in this particular case.

"Having him on patrol will certainly help keep anyone from being too conspicuous if they mean to do something in the tunnels while all of this is going on." C.T. stated helpfully to her blue-armored teammate, apparently deciding to ignore the nap commentary from Tucker and Grif.

"So, see, Caboose? Freckles is being helpful just where he is!" Donut told him confidently, his cheery mannerisms on display at their finest whenever he was trying to encourage someone.

Caboose seemed pleased and promptly began talking about possible picnic ideas since their being out together here on Level One made him think of picnics for some reason. With Caboose it was best to just go with his train of thought sometimes, though by this point only Donut and Grif really paid much attention to him.

Donut because he always liked having possible suggestions for future get-togethers, and Grif because…well, picnics involved food and reclining on the ground while eating. Fuck, he was usually apparently always on a picnic with how he usually ate! All the while the group kept an eye on what was going on around them.

It wasn't long after that when Kimball and Felix arrived quietly and with surprisingly little fanfare. Though that really wasn't Kimball's style anyways: even though she was technically the Resistance leader, she never seemed comfortable basking in the title for some reason. Both Kimball and Felix looked deceptively calm with their body language despite whatever they were probably really feeling.

The atmosphere became tense again very quickly as the group of assigned guards fell into their initial phase roles for what lay ahead. The "peace talks" were about to officially commence to who knows what end exactly.

---

"All right. Here's the game plan. While the meeting is going on, Tucker and Lopez, you'll check the hotel floors just to make sure things are still okay from York's last inspection." Felix said as they made their way to the meeting hall.

"They" being Kimball, Lopez, Grif, and Tucker. The others were going to be stay outside of the hotel for the first dialogue just to make sure that the plain clothes Above Ground soldiers stayed in line.

"Roger. Suena como unas vacaciones ya." {"Roger. Sounds like a vacation already."}

"Aw, fuckberries." Tucker whined, "Why can't I sit in on the first meeting too?"

"It will most likely be pointless and boring as fuck, trust me." Felix said, pausing only a few moments before adding in sarcastically, "Also, I can barely stand interacting with you as it is. Being confined in a room with you for hours would very likely end with me killing you, which might go badly for the peace talks."

"It's always a real pleasure working with you." The teal-armored fighter muttered in response.

Oddly enough, despite how often the two bantered like that, they did work well together during missions. Felix and Tucker always seemed to get into really heated arguments despite that though, for whatever reason.

Grif figured it perhaps had to do with the two men having somewhat similar personality traits, but really not wanting to admit it.

"So, I'll be able to sleep then?" Grif cut in hopefully, deciding it would be best for Kimball to make a professional entrance by defusing their argument.

He knew the answer would be "no" before he asked. He wasn't that stupid, after all, but no harm in trying. Especially if it got focus away from his two comrades sniping away at each other with verbal insults.

The orange and steel-armored mercenary sighed, "Maybe Lopez should stand in instead."

"Claro, yo no soy más que nunca la opción de último minuto cada vez que te acuerdas de estos tipos son unos idiotas." {"Sure, I'm only ever the last minute option whenever you remember these guys are idiots."}

He was pretty sure his robotic teammate was being quite sarcastic with whatever that comment was.

"Grif will be fine." Kimball spoke up for the first time since they'd arrived. Beforehand, she'd seemed to be lost in thought completely. Understandably so, given what she was about to walk into.

Upon closer scrutiny, even her armor looked a lot shinier and cleaner than Grif had ever remembered it being before. It was obvious she was trying to show a strong, prideful side to the Resistance with the sudden interest in how her armor looked. Usually it was always covered with the same dirt and grime as everyone else's from operating out in the tunnels.

He wondered how much worse the circles under her eyes were now as well from when he'd last seen them. No doubt she'd worried a ton about this meeting.

Least they could do is attend it without too much of a fuss, he supposed, given how much effort their leader was putting in.

"You can have the next meeting, if you want." Grif offered to Tucker, "No way am I standing in there for days on end. I will fall asleep."

"Sounds fine to me." Tucker was grinning behind his helmet, "Getting to annoy Felix will be a perk."

"I am going to spit in your food the next time we're both at the mess hall." Felix shot back quickly.

They could've sworn they heard Kimball chuckle a bit.

Tucker and Grif both shot each other triumphant looks before the teal-armored soldier and brown-armored robot pulled away to begin their patrols. Both would be returning to stand outside the meeting room afterwards.

It was mere moments after that when the remaining three soldiers stepped up to the doors of the conference room designated for the event. Two armored Above Ground soldiers stood on either side of the door. They bowed their heads only minimally to acknowledge Kimball's presence alone.

The doors opened wide into a well-lit, nondescript room with a large table in its center and large terminals hanging from the ceiling overhead. It was the type of room often used for higher-end business negotiations. Or government ones as well, Grif supposed.

Four figures were already sitting on the other side of the table, all dressed in expensive-looking business attire. Obvious Council members even if the air of authority and power practically exuding from their straight-backed postures and their body language didn't make it abundantly obvious that these were people used to having what they said followed.

Three of them were scowling: an older man, and two middle-aged women. Clearly they were not any happier to be "slumming" with the leader of the Resistance than any of the Resistance members were to be here.

The other one, a middle-aged man with short, shaved graying hair, was sitting off to the side slightly apart from the not-very-eager trio. He was smiling thinly, though it didn't seem to quite hit his eyes.

…Which kind of made the expression really unsettling.

"You are Vanessa Kimball, correct?" he asked, a British accent lilting his words, "It is wonderful to finally meet you."

The scowling on the other Council members' faces deepened.

"Chairman Hargrove." Kimball's tone was diplomatic, the epitome of neutrality. Grif was rather impressed, she was a good actor: "It is good to finally be able to put a face to the voice."

The smile creased the corners of his eyes slightly, but they were still emotionless, "We're glad to see you chose to respond to the request wisely."

Asshole.

Kimball didn't rise to the bait. If they made a fuss over the nature of the message, it would likely cause them to lose any hand they might have in this whole sham.

Instead, she simply took a seat in one of the chairs facing the Council members. Grif took a cue from Felix and stood with his back to the wall facing into the room. He wasn't really looking forward to maintaining that stance for hours on end, but oh well.

After doing so, Grif turned his attention for the first time from the Council members to the two bodyguards facing them and standing in the same position as he and Felix were on the opposite side of the room.

One of them squirmed slightly. Grif felt as if they were bearing holes into him through his armor with the look they'd just fixed him with.

The maroon armor the person was wearing was unmistakable.

He paused, an odd feeling clenching his chest. It was weirdly reminiscent of whenever he had to struggle to breathe when either faced with large heights or the smell of smoke.

Dexter Grif had to clamp down on whatever surprised reaction he was having at seeing Simmons there as Hargrove suddenly cleared his throat.

The Chairman put his hands decisively on the table before him, "Let's begin. Shall we?"

---

There was a fountain set up nearby the hotel. It was nothing exceedingly gaudy or extravagant like one might perhaps find in public areas of Above Ground, but it had a pretty round basin with three tufts of water that would shoot up in timed intervals radiating from the center of the structure.

Every twenty minutes or so, they were joined by four small jets from the outlying sides that shot inwards at an angle. The water plumes were timed perfectly to collide together in the center of the fountain just as the three central ones were descending, causing a small explosion of water droplets that cascaded down to where the water pooled below.

It was charming. The type of attraction that showcased how Level One had once been a more open space than the more crowded underbelly levels of the Slums below it

C.T. made it a point to always time her perimeter walks so that she was back in time for the big display of jets. Though what had been intended in the initial design as a comforting, soothing, wondrous gesture for those who lived here had her centering on some decidedly darker thoughts.

She narrowed her eyes, gazing through the water explosion at the Above Grounders trying to look nondescript and failing rather badly in the background. Odd that, given how well she'd been able to hide her observances for so long.

They weren't really doing anything, but it felt like their mere presence was a slap in the face to everything the people who called this place home had been through.

She was also well-aware of how that same thought applied to her, and she hated it.

"Hey, C.T.!"

Donut's chipper greeting diverted her attention momentarily from her self-loathing mindset. She tried to make sure that her gratefulness for the distraction wasn't too obvious.

"Anything happen?" She asked.

They had been patrolling ever since Tucker and the others had gone inside, though she surmised that with Caboose it was more just having someone walking around in armor for a visual effect than actually really patrolling. It made sense. Caboose was extremely tall and as a result cut an imposing figure fully-armored provided he didn't actually talk and reveal the more playful side of his personality.

"Not a thing!" Donut sounded extremely relieved, which she couldn't blame him for as she knew he didn't particularly like fighting, "The soldiers from Above Ground right now seem to be on their best behavior."

She nodded. She had a feeling that would be the case. The Above Ground soldiers she'd seen so far had been doing a whole lot of nothing as well, beyond regarding the more obviously clad in armor and openly armed Resistance members warily.

It seemed like they really were just here to ensure the Council's safety.

Didn't mean that it wasn't nerve-wracking having so many of them here. Or that something wasn't happening elsewhere that they just weren't aware of yet.

"This is a nice spot!" Donut said conversationally, staring at the fountain.

"Uh-huh." She was about to tell him that they needed to move again soon, but refrained when he started talking once more.

"I used to come here all the time with my parents, before…you know." She winced, but Donut carried on since he hadn't seen her reaction, "They really did a great job rebuilding the fountain. It looks almost the same!"

"Donut." she stopped at the younger man's name, not quite sure what she had originally planned to say after it.

The conversation seemed an odd one to have with a young Resistance fighter who always seemed to like talking about lighter topics when given the chance.

He turned to stare at her. She imagined the look in his brown eyes was probably an inquisitive one, "Can I ask you something?"

She glanced away for just a moment to see that the Above Ground soldiers were still doing nothing suspicious. Then she nodded in response to Donut's question, her throat suddenly dry.

"Did you…" he paused, taking a deep breath as if what he was about to ask was something he needed to steel himself for: "Did you really know the guy who had been in charge of the Insurrectionists?"

C.T.'s eyes widened at the straight-forward question.

She had known since she had defected that her past was a highly talked about subject amongst the Resistance members. But, despite being there for a year, no one had worked up the nerve to talk about it directly to her face. At times they would be passive-aggressive or awkward around her and she always suspected that she knew the reason why. Thankfully she had yet to have a full-blown confrontation with anyone over it though.

She hadn't expected the rather naïve Donut of all people to be so blunt on the topic.

He seemed to mistake her initial lack of response to his inquiry as anger instead of just surprise and he began to fidget awkwardly, "Ah, sorry! It was rude of me to pry like that." He said quickly, glancing at the ground and then at her and then back to the ground again while his body language screamed both apologetic and regret, "It's just there are these rumors and I don't know if you've noticed, but sometimes people have been really rude to you and I was just—"

"Yes." She interrupted him with the confirmation of his question in order to get him to stop fretting over whether it had been inappropriate to ask. In truth, she was rather touched by the blonde's concern.

Donut thankfully stopped trying to say an awkward, rushed mountain load of words in under a second and breathed. She figured he was probably hoping for an elaboration on her response, but that he wasn't sure it was okay to ask anymore.

"I knew him." She sighed, wondering what the right words were to describe their past association and settling on something vague, "We were close."

Apparently, though, Donut was a surprising master of figuring out the hidden truths behind words. He nodded his head in perfect understanding to what she actually meant, "Oh. Gotcha." He said, tilting his head slightly to regard her thoughtfully after that: "But, how…?"

It made sense that he'd be curious, she supposed. The Insurrection had been a cell of the Resistance and, up until just a little while ago, C.T. had been working as an agent of Project Freelancer. Which meant she'd most likely been born in Above Ground.

"I had a really bad argument with my parents once. I wasn't sure if I could confide in any of my friends about it back then, so I was sort of in a bad place emotionally." She smiled at the memory, though she recalled how devastating an experience it had been when she was a teenager, "I was a kid. I just wanted to prove myself."

…Which had eventually led her to one of the security blocks that cut off Above Ground citizens from the rabble below. She remembered just standing there looking at the first computer terminal: upset, scared, and determined all at once. But, mostly overwhelmed and wanting somewhere to get away from everything.

Donut seemed to pick up on that as well, even without her having voiced it out loud.

"So you went slumming?" He said the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Understandable, really, given the Slums' sentiment on the subject and more often than not the usual jerky teenagers who did it.

"Tried to." Her smile became a wry one at the memory and she shook her head, "I somehow ended up getting hopelessly lost in the mines though. Probably either used one of the wrong gates or just took a bad turn somewhere. I honestly don't know what would have happened if I hadn't run into him down there."

She remembered being close to tears and with scrapes on her legs from a fall in a darkened corridor, only to turn a corner and come into contact with a flashlight being shoved into her face. The sudden light had promptly caused her to fall over backwards in surprise.

He had laughed then. A teen only a year or two older than herself, his dark hair styled into a mohawk. Had helped her up—offering a quick apology and a joking comment about how he'd heard so much stumbling he'd thought a little kid had been lost in the tunnels. She had gotten embarrassed thinking he was mocking her height. That had gotten the boy even more amused and quick to correct what he'd meant.

That had been the start of their rather bizarre friendship.

Little Connie became much more adept at sneaking past the security gates and into the world below her own after that. Which more than likely later on helped her become something of an infiltration specialist in her military career.

The boy, in turn, seemed to enjoy showing the Above Ground teen just how different living down in the Slums actually was compared to the supposed reality she had always been raised to believe.

She eventually reconciled with her parents over whatever the initial argument had been about. It was odd how it had seemed so devastating to her at the time, but now she had trouble even recollecting what the heated fighting was even in regards to in the first place.

Her parents always just assumed that the times she wasn't home was just her trying to be rebellious still. They thought that she was most likely just hanging out at friends' homes, so they never questioned her too much.

The only person who ever really knew where she actually went was David. They used to tell each other everything, after all (she missed that now). While he worried about his friend back then, David always kept her secret.

Eventually, as they got older, the friendship between herself and the young man she had met from the Slums just seemed to naturally evolve into something else entirely. She wasn't exactly sure when it happened, really. At some point they both seemed to view the other as more than just a friend.

There was lots of hand-holding and knowing looks happening without them really noticing at first. The kinds of things she'd jokingly gag about whenever she saw her parents or other couples doing them when she had been younger. Those types of gestures didn't seem nearly as gross to her then. Maybe that was really all the subtle change needed to indicate a new shift in a pair's dynamic.

Their relationship continued even after he became directly involved with the Insurrection and she with Freelancer. That had actually been the start of her informant status for the Resistance. She had become more and more disenfranchised with both Project Freelancer and Above Ground policy in general in regards to the mining colony.

…They had both thought they were doing the right thing, then.

After that, well, that was the part of the story everyone seemed to already know.

"You probably won't believe me, and I don't expect anyone to, but he really did love this place." It came out as a whisper, more to herself than to Donut.

The lightish red soldier said nothing, instead letting her just get out her thoughts.

"You remember the miner skirmishes awhile back?" C.T. finally asked him.

"The ones Tex said were just excuses for the military to scrounge in the mines for alien tech?" Donut was a little confused as to what that had to do with current topic.

She nodded, glad she wouldn't have to explain that incident on top of everything else, "He had lost his father and three older siblings in it."

They had been with the miners who had protested when Above Ground began bombing and opening fire on them, he had told her. He'd been only five when it happened, but he saw the lingering devastation it had left behind whenever he regarded his mother or older sister afterwards. Or whenever he saw the relatives of his family's coworkers.

"There was a part of him that was consumed by revenge. Most of the other Insurrection members were people who had also extremely suffered at some point due to Above Ground." She sighed and kicked at the ground slightly with her boot, watching as the two plain clothed Above Grounders seemed to get bored with standing there doing nothing and moved a little ways down the street to do nothing yet again: "That doesn't change what happened later though."

C.T. regarded the fountain for a moment longer before continuing, "Still, he loved this place. He always spoke so proudly of having been raised here." The three central jets of water shot up into the air, "This part of Level One was actually one of his favorite spots to just sit and talk."

The two of them had spent a lot of time sitting on the benches nearby, hours flying quickly before they'd have to go their separate ways once more. Sometimes talking, sometimes just people-watching. She remembered enjoying those moments, even when they had started talking about more serious topics.

Donut continued to say nothing. He was probably not quite sure how to respond.

"I don't know exactly what happened during the initial Insurrection attack on Above Ground. As far as I knew, he had never intended for it to be as extreme as it ended up being." She frowned, recalling their talks on the subject and still believing he hadn't lied to her then.

The fact that he even discussed those plans with her at all, given that she could have easily betrayed them to Above Ground and gotten everyone working under him killed by warning that the Slums residents were planning to destroy power grids all over the city, was a big indication of how much trust he placed in her. He even asked her opinion on what to do to keep casualties at a minimum, especially with regards to the civilian population.

She forced herself to continue: "I do know that he never would have wanted what ended up happening here in retaliation for his actions either."

In a way, perhaps it had been a kindness of sorts that he had been killed earlier in the skirmishes that followed. Back when entry into the mining tunnels had been blocked for the fleeing Insurrection members following the attack.

She wasn't sure she truly believed that though either. The man she had known would have more than likely gotten himself killed in an attempt to try to correct his mistakes and take full responsibility for them. He would probably even have tried to get pressure away from those under his command and the Slums in the process. It was almost like he'd been cheated from the opportunity to even attempt to atone for something terrible.

Even if it was one of those things one couldn't ever truly atone for.

"That's why you still helped the Resistance as an informant, then?" Donut finally spoke up, his voice surprisingly quiet, "To help make up for what had happened?"

A nod in response. She'd been an informant for the Insurrection as well. She shared blame along with all of them for what happened even if she hadn't been directly involved in whatever ultimately went down. She felt as though, in a way, she had to try to make it up for both of them somehow following it.

It wasn't something she could expect understanding or forgiveness for. But, she suddenly felt a rather cathartic sense of relief at having finally been able to let it out into the open after all this time.

Donut whistled softly. "You know, maybe you should tell Tucker that some day." He suggested, his voice taking on its familiar encouraging notes, "It might help you guys see more eye-to-eye."

C.T. looked at him in surprise, grateful to hear the still friendly and helpful tone in his voice after everything she revealed but not really sure what to make of his idea, "I…don't really see that happening anytime soon, Donut."

Right. Because Tucker had even more of a reason to be distrusting of her than some of the others did. He never said anything about it to her directly, but she had been informed of that fact well enough by the passive aggressive comments made in regards to the choice of her being a member of Tucker's team by members of the Resistance not too keen on her being there. She was also informed of it by Kaikaina, when the younger woman was in her storytelling moods during her free time.

Often Kai would tell of seemingly improbable events from her own life. But, in her rarer reflective moments, C.T. was surprised by how much both she and her brother had gone through given how they usually acted. The story of what happened with Tucker and his mother was often told in Kai's more reflective moments as well.

"You never know! It might turn out better than you think." If he didn't have his helmet on, she was fairly certain she would be seeing one of his brown eyes given her the knowing wink Donut was so fond of using.

She doubted it personally, but couldn't bring herself to curb the young man's enthusiasm after their heart-to-heart, "I'll think about that." She assured him, though that wasn't really a confirmation of anything.

"Good." There was a definite smile in his voice now, "The tension between you guys is pretty thick, but it's not really the good kind of tension that you write about later in your diary after it boils over."

C.T. wasn't sure if she wanted an elaboration of that or not. She was pretty certain she knew what kind of tension Donut was referring to and, yes, she agreed with him that that definitely did not seem to be an issue between her and Tucker at all. She was prevented from even asking though when Caboose bounded over excitedly, followed by a person in oddly familiar-looking purple armor who didn't seem quite too sure about what was going on.

"Look! I made a new friend!" Caboose called out excitedly, "He says lots of funny things."

"Uh…" the man in the purple armor looked at all of them, his body language clearly showing his confusion.

"Caboose, you shouldn't just latch on to people when they're walking down the street." Donut admonished in the type of over-acted voice one uses when they find a child with their hand reaching for a cookie jar, "That can be considered rude!"

"This one is wearing purple. I have friends who wear all sorts of different colors!" Caboose was too energized to really dwell on Donut's comment, "If I can collect them all, we'll have a set."

"Caboose…"

"Gotta catch 'em all." Naturally Caboose would be eager to use a quote from one of his favorite television shows airing on repeat on the internet all the time from old Earth.

"Um, I'm really sorry to barge into the conversation like this," the stranger finally spoke up, an unsure note in his voice, "But it isn't very polite to talk about someone when they are standing right next to you."

"Oh, sorry!" Donut quickly dipped his head forward apologetically, "Things really can get hectic here!"

"It is pretty lively, huh?" his tone took on a friendlier, easygoing note to match the pink-armored soldier's own, "I must say, the atmosphere really wasn't at all what I was expecting."

It only took a few more moments for the familiar-sounding voice to be connected to a person in C.T.'s head, "…DuFresne?"

One of Florida's subordinates, along with Simmons. She'd never spoken to him directly, though he seemed pleasant enough if a little quirky when she'd seen him interacting with others from a distance. She also knew his "medic" skills were something of a joke amongst the soldiers at the Mother of Invention when she'd still been around there.

DuFresne seemed to vaguely recognize her as well, turning to face the brown-armored woman at the mention of his name. If he was at all freaked out at being in the presence of a defected Freelancer, he was a master of hiding it.

Instead, the medic known rather dubiously as "Doc" by his peers gave her a sort-of sheepish little wave in greeting.

"Hello. You're Agent Connecticut, right?" He laughed slightly, "Wow. This really is a small world, huh?"

---

So, patrolling all of the floors of the hotel and then backtracking through them once more just to be sure, and then having a whole lot of nothing to do afterwards?

Not exactly Tucker's idea of a wild fun time. Nope, his idea of a wild fun time was the type of thing videos with bad lighting and ridiculous music tracks overlaid on top of a lot of moaning contained. That was both fun and wild if one caught his drift. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!

As seemed to be the case in this whole area of Level One, the Above Grounders in attendance were on their best behavior. Not that Tucker would put it past them to be planning something behind the scenes. Oh, no. The talks were far too forced and convenient for that not to actually be the case.

Still, he checked every nook and cranny he could find, making a mental note to not let Donut babysit Junior for awhile until the younger Red Team member's odd penchant for word phrasing dissipated from his brain. After that Tucker decided to head back to the corridor containing the conference room where Kimball and the others were engaged in the first round of talks, just to check on what was going on there.

"What's up?" he inclined his head slightly at the two white-armored Above Ground guards standing at attention there already.

They, in return, did their best to ignore him.

Asshats.

Lopez returned a little while later to stand at attention as well. Tucker tried the same greeting with him just to kill some time.

"No encontré nada de interés aquí. Esto realmente va a ser como unas vacaciones." {"I found nothing of interest here. This really will be like a vacation."}

Well, Lopez might as well have just ignored him since Tucker couldn't understand what the fuck he was saying anyways. At least the robot had the decency to actually respond to his inquiry though, even if for all Tucker knew he'd been talking about flying elephants or something.

He sighed, trying to remain standing at alert while not letting his thoughts wander. He knew how important this was. Knew how much was at stake here, after all.

Plus, he refused to give these Above Ground assholes the satisfaction of seeing how pissed off he was at them for picking this location in the first place.

His eyes narrowed at that thought, and he channeled his anger into a steadying force.

"You there?"

To say he was surprised when Tex's voice came in filtered through his helmet's comm-radio was an understatement. He may have even jumped a little. Though he assumed he could just cover it up by acting like he had to go to the bathroom really badly if anyone looked at him askance. …Which they didn't, thankfully.

Tucker glanced over at the two guards from Above Ground. Neither of them seemed to have heard anything at all.

It was a private comm-channel then.

"Don't try responding! Donut had to pull off some odd musical number to counter yelling out "Hey, Tex!" already." She sounded exasperated at the recollection, and Tucker couldn't help but grin, "Kimball says the assholes are stalling on purpose. Trying to drag things out. Something is definitely going on."

Wow, so Kimball must be incredibly bored and frustrated if she was privately messaging people about her suspicions during the talks.

Not that they didn't already suspect that about the real reason for the "invitation to negotiate," besides. But, since they weren't willing to proceed quickly, that most likely meant whatever they really were down here for must not currently be secure to them.

"They want to postpone the talks for a few days."

No wonder Tex sounded even angrier than normal. It was frustrating enough that they'd been put in this position in the first place. On top of that, something was going on that no one in the Resistance really had a solid grasp on yet. It was probably maddening for someone like Tex, who always liked to have as much control of a situation as she could.

"That's bullshit!"

Lopez and the two guards looked at Tucker and he chuckled nervously in response to his unintended outburst, "I mean…it's bullshit that we have to stand out here! Am I right?"

The Above Grounders promptly went back to ignoring him. Lopez simply shook his head.

"Idiota." {"Idiot."}

Okay, even he knew what that one was. He grinned sheepishly, though he knew Lopez wouldn't see it.

"What did I just tell you about not talking, moron?"

If voices could kill, he was pretty sure he'd be dead in about ten different ways now. Even with knowing that Tex wasn't anywhere close by, he couldn't help but shudder slightly.

She was always pretty fucking scary when pissed.

"Looks like you dumbasses are going to have some free time while this gets sorted out." She mumbled something under her breath he couldn't quite make out about how Kimball was perhaps a bit too soft-hearted for her own good when it came to allowing breaks for fighters before continuing more clearly, "Try not to embarrass yourselves too much. Though I doubt that's possible."

Tex turned the radio link off abruptly, thankfully cutting off Tucker before he had the opportunity to say anything extremely dumb and suicidal in response.

He was torn between being pissed over the whole thing (what the actual fuck?) to being rather overjoyed. Yes, it meant a couple of days where he would have to stand at attention for hours on end with assholes. Still, he could maybe spend some time with Junior if Kimball really was planning on allowing some time for the "volunteer" teams to take it easy. At least giving them a break might be a way to keep frustrations over the whole annoying-as-hell situation from boiling over. Still, Tucker was somewhat just confused over what was going on and what was actually happening.

He'd need clarification from someone who, unlike Tex, would actually explain things with legitimate answers. Maybe Kimball could—

The door to the conference hall opened just then, and Grif came out at a surprisingly quick pace for the usually very lethargic and slow-moving man.

Tucker was about to inquire if there was a buffet somewhere in the hotel he didn't know about as a joke since food usually motivated Grif to move like nothing else could. But, then he saw an armored figure in maroon following his friend immediately afterwards, and his voice caught in his throat.

Well, shit. Guess that would do it too.

Deciding it was perhaps for the best not to get involved too quickly in married life drama, Tucker instead turned to go into the meeting room himself since Kimball and Felix hadn't emerged yet. He bet Kai was going to have a field day when she found out about what he saw and he would definitely ask Grif about it later regardless of what happened. Maybe even tease him a bit too, just for old time's sake.

Tucker was wanting even more answers now though. Screw if the Council people were still present by this point! He'd just have to try and ask his questions without making a big deal out of it. He was about to enter the door only to stop short at a steel and yellow helmet staring straight at him.

"…Tucker?" Agent Washington's voice held a very obvious note of stunned disbelief at seeing the Resistance fighter again.

Yeah, makes sense. Tucker guessed Washington had never planned on seeing him again after the Above Grounder had given him a fucking concussion.

"¿Lo conoces?" {"You know him?"}

He ignored Lopez, as well as the questioning stares he was now receiving from Felix and Kimball standing near the open doorway.

His brown eyes narrowed in the Freelancer's direction as he said in way of greeting: "It's been awhile, asshole."

Then Tucker was moving, his hand already balled into a fist to make up for what Washington had done before. Caught in the moment as he was, he barely registered Felix sighing in exasperation behind the two of them.

"And, shockingly, Sarge couldn't understand why I requested a larger payment for this job." The mercenary said, turning to spare a sideways glance at a still very surprised Kimball.

---

If there was one thing he knew was beyond stupid, it was always running away like this.

And yet, Grif couldn't help it. Every single goddamned time he ran into Simmons it was the same routine anymore.

It was fear, most likely, he knew. Better to leave again before things got too real. Before he was left behind.

On some level, Grif almost wondered if this wasn't some throwback to his parents abandoning him and Kai like they had. Or maybe it was just because things always seemed to go the same way in regards to the two of them.

He didn't know, and he thought it kind of sucked ass either way. But, what could he do?

Grif was actually quite inwardly pleased with himself that he managed to somehow make it through the meeting without bolting or having some kind of outburst. Even Kimball seemed somewhat surprised at that when she recognized Simmons as one of the guards, given what she knew of their history from what had happened last year.

He listened through the hours of boring talk. Man, that Hargrove guy liked to talk: always insulting everybody, but offering very little in the way of constructive dialogue while expecting the representative of the Resistance to just nod and listen. Grif could already tell it was most likely turning into a stall tactic even before it became so painfully obvious with the postponement suggestion the Chairman once again oh-so-graciously offered.

He tried looking anywhere but at Simmons, even when he felt Simmons' eyes going back to him constantly throughout. On some occasions, he'd catch the other Above Ground bodyguard and Felix casting the two of them curious looks as the leaders continued their "discussion."

Couldn't really look though, not at Simmons. Because if he had, Grif probably would have done something extremely stupid.

When the postponement suggestion had been made, Kimball had once again no real choice but to agree. The Council seemed big on this "illusion" of choice, which kind of just made it all the more dickish. After that, Grif was out of there in a heartbeat. He was suddenly desperate not to be in the oddly cramped feeling room for another moment, despite the fact that it was technically rather spacious.

Grif whizzed past Tucker and Lopez so fast that they really were more or less indistinct teal and brown blurs in his vision, and right out the doors of the hotel. He also vaguely saw C.T., Donut, and Caboose by the nearby fountain display with some guy in purple. Then he could finally start to breathe a little again.

Large big gulps of air helped somewhat dissipate the tunnel vision he'd been starting to get. It was just like the times he smelled smoke or when he was exposed to heights now.

Damn it.

"Grif!"

He had finally slowed down to his usual walk-jog pace, but was still technically walking when he felt a hand grip his arm and he was forcibly spun around.

Man. A year later and Simmons still obviously didn't fully comprehend how strong his cybernetic components made him whenever he got emotional.

Instinctively, remembering last time they'd met in a rush of unwanted memories and attached feelings, Grif tried pulling his arm away—which caused the redhead's grip to tighten slightly. He could feel it even through the armor, just like then.

"Damn it, Simmons. Let go!" he yelled out in frustration, continuing to try to pull his arm free.

Anger was always better than panic, Grif felt. Even now, it was helping to keep him grounded.

"No!"

The scrawny Above Grounder hadn't changed any in the last year, it seemed. The nerd Grif had become friends with so long ago was still the same anxious, oddly stubborn young man.

Grif was both disappointed and relieved to realize that. After all, it was harder to stay mad at someone you still genuinely liked as a person. Tired of the other's continued unyielding grip, but sudden inability to apparently vocalize words, the tan soldier sighed.

"So, what then?" He finally got out himself, "Are you going to talk or—?"

Just as quickly, he was being pulled forward. Despite the bulky awkwardness of the armor they were both wearing, he felt arms wrapping tight around him. Almost suffocatingly so.

Grif blinked in surprise. His mind was drawing a blank on how exactly to respond to another guy hugging him out in the middle of the street.

…Donut's elated "Aww!" from somewhere in the background really didn't help things any.

Yet, he didn't hate it like he would have expected himself to. It actually felt oddly nice.

Like an assurance Grif hadn't really known he'd wanted or even needed just before then.

A part of him even wondered briefly what the gesture would feel like in civilian clothes, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"I—I'm glad you're okay." Simmons' voice sounded rather watery. It was coming from somewhere just slightly above Grif's head given their awkward position now. It seemed that the Above Grounder's whole body was shaking with relief. Grif could feel it through the embrace.

The redhead had probably been feeling awful and guilt-ridden about the whole "hostage" situation this whole time. Especially given that he had to leave so suddenly afterwards. It occurred to Grif just then that Simmons probably hadn't even been sure if he'd managed to survive after all of that. Suddenly, Grif felt rather bad too.

Simmons had acted rashly. He could definitely be a moron sometimes when it came to social cues, but he wasn't really an asshole. It made total sense that Simmons would have been worried sick about a friend given that he'd ended up putting him into a rather dangerous situation.

Any residual anger Grif still felt towards Simmons faded at that realization: "Heh, careful, kiss ass. If you cry too much in your helmet you'll suffocate."

His comment managed to get an almost pained sounding laugh out of Simmons through his sniffling, "I'm fairly certain that can't happen from a design stance, Grif."

"You'd probably know, huh?" he joked right back in response to Simmons' attempt at using "nerd logic" in this moment, "How many times have you let loose the waterworks in there, Simmons?"

"How many times have you inhaled a cookie while wearing yours?" the pale man shot back just as quickly. Grif was, as always, impressed by how fast the usually very timid soldier always countered his teasing.

"Fifteen times. Maybe twenty."

Grif didn't even have to think too hard to come up with those numbers, since he did sometimes sneak cookies in helmet. Sugar imbalances were nothing to laugh at!

His matter-of-fact response made Simmons laugh for real this time. It was a good sound, coming from him. Grif was glad he got the chance to hear it again at least, "Fat ass."

"Nerd." He grinned back, despite the helmet concealing it from view.

Simmons quickly pulled away following that, and Grif reluctantly had to pull his own arms back too. When had he started returning the awkward embrace? He hadn't even been aware of having done it at all until he had to move his arms out of Simmons' way.

The maroon soldier shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking everywhere else but at Grif then. He seemed to be trying to work up the nerve to say something else.

"Grif, I'm—"

"Dex! You'll never guess who that crazy old guy gave a break too!"

The loud outburst that interrupted Simmons was followed by a figure in yellow armor running up to the two men excitedly.

Kaikaina stopped short during the middle of her jubilant greeting wave, just now realizing she'd inadvertently stumbled into a private moment of sorts between her brother and someone else. She was apparently drawing a blank just then as she was obviously trying to figure out if she knew the person standing next to Grif.

"Kai—Kaikaina?" Simmons actually managed to stumble out a question even before the young woman could. That didn't happen too often, given how talkative she was. He was looking at the sight of her wearing battle armor like Grif in shock.

Simmons hadn't seen her since she'd been fourteen and he'd stayed with them after having helped her out of a rough spot. It made sense he'd be more than just a little surprised at her having joined the Resistance. It wasn't like Grif hadn't been either when he'd found about it, after all.

She regarded him thoughtfully for a few more seconds since he obviously knew her name. She even took off her helmet for a second so that she could squint her brown eyes at him without obtrusion despite how he was still wearing his own helmet. Until, finally, something about his voice clicked her brain into recognition mode.

"No way! You're the shy gray guy!"

Simmons groaned, having never really liked either description that Kai had used to address him with when he'd been staying at their apartment back then. Grif couldn't help snicker at his response, promptly earning him what he was sure was a glare that he pointedly ignored from his recently reunited friend given how quickly the maroon helmet whipped around to Grif's direction.

Kai continued beaming at the two of them as if nothing had really changed at all.

---

Author's Notes: Sorry if it took a bit longer than normal to type this chapter up. I just started a new job, so I have been busy with orientation and training. This poor thing was sitting neglected in my journal for awhile before I had time to open a word document!

Anyways, some more plot happenings in this chapter: finally went more into C.T.'s past, introduced Emily Grey (who I hope I did justice to!), and had the start of the reunions. Sorry that the Tuckington one ended on such a big cliffhanger (I have plans for it, no worries!), but I hope the little Grimmons moment I managed to sneak in at the end made up for it. :)

I kind of think Emily Grey's personality is somewhat similar to Samantha Traynor's from Mass Effect 3 (Dr. Grey seems to get really excited about medical stuff in the same way that Traynor gets really excited about tech and games!). So naturally, as I was writing, Traynor kept slipping into my head when I was thinking of a physical description for Dr. Grey and that somehow ended up turning into my head canon for the character! Random, but I thought I'd mention it in case anyone was curious. :)

Working on some more character interactions in the next couple of chapters too! Going to finally start writing some Doc and Donut scenes, and orz…Sarge will definitely be having his hands full with Kaikaina and the lieutenants for awhile. XD

Also, after seeing the awesomeness that was Episode 10 of S12, I subsequently spent two days brainstorming a pretty big change in what will happen towards the end of this whole "peace talk" story arc. Hopefully it will turn out okay. :)

As always, thank you for reading!