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.}

13. Chapter 13

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 Thirteen:

"So, you're going to this stupid party thing too?"

Felix's voice came from somewhere behind him, causing Tucker's spine to stiffen slightly in surprise. They were at headquarters, having just arrived back there a few hours ago after the first phase of the "peace talks" fiasco.

Tucker had just exited the large space that served as the Resistance's mess hall. Thankful, at the time, that the mercenary had been nowhere in sight while he'd been eating given Felix's earlier threat to spit in his food. He was fairly certain the other man had meant it given how annoyed he'd been at Tucker's earlier actions.

Though, given how sneaky the bastard was, it wouldn't have surprised Tucker to find out that Felix had beaten him there beforehand. As vocally boastful as Felix was, he could be surprisingly stealthy when he felt the need to be.

Tucker just preferred not knowing if that was the case. Peace of mind and all that shit, or as close to it as he was going to get given the circumstances. Hopefully, Felix wasn't there just to gloat or show him "spit take" pictures or something.

He glanced up at the steel and orange-armored mercenary from the weapons rack he had been checking over right before Felix's interruption.

Apparently one of Sarge's training duties for the newer recruits that day had been weapons maintenance. Given some of Private Palomo's earlier mishaps with firearms, Tucker figured it was better to be safe than try to fire a gun later only to have it blast him across the room due to improper settings.

You really only did that once or twice before it stopped being remotely funny and became more of a nuisance, especially when it happened to you personally. Generally speaking, when they weren't in desperate need of a working gun and it happened to someone else—well, yeah, Tucker would probably laugh his ass off: he was only human after all and funny was funny!

Surprisingly, the weapons that Palomo had been assigned earlier seemed to be in even better working condition than last time he had checked out this storage area.

Maybe there was something to be said for the crazy old guy's training methods. Or maybe there was some hope for all of the kids yet.

Personally, given everything going on right now, he kind of hoped it was a bit of both.

Regardless of his reasoning for asking it, Felix actually seemed pretty disinterested in whatever Tucker' response to his earlier question would be. The mercenary only occasionally even glanced in the direction of the teal-armored soldier, paying closer attention to his own knife-twirling.

Yeah, Tucker got it: Felix was in love with that particular weapon. He needed to just buy the damn thing a drink and make it fucking official.

Whenever they had talks like this, Tucker had to fight the growing suspicion that anytime the mercenary got the slightest bit annoyed he was inwardly fighting the temptation to stab someone with the blade. It was odd considering he had personally never seen him do anything of the sort amongst his allies, though he'd seen Felix used the knife well enough to dispatch enemy combatants on the few occasions they'd been sent out on missions together.

Tucker shrugged in response finally as he put the last rifle back, "I might. Kimball didn't have any objections, so what the Hell. Right?"

Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion Grif was going. He figured it had been awhile since the two of them had the chance to just hang out as friends again outside of the war situation.

If the nerd guy Grif was married to showed up also, Tucker figured it would be perfect blackmail material later. He could probably even get Kai to either pay him or give him booze later for any gossip on that particular subject. His childhood friends were kind of awesome that way.

Also, no matter how hard Tucker had tried to convince him that he probably wouldn't like a club scene, Caboose had stubbornly declared to his teammate that he wanted to go too. Probably because when Donut called it a "party" Caboose instantly thought that it would be like the little kids' ones he loved: Tucker was fairly certain he'd enjoyed Junior's last birthday party more than his son actually had. Plus, the blue-armored Resistance fighter was convinced that asshole-who-wasn't-so-bad-for-an-asshole-all-the-time Church would be there for some reason.

He wouldn't have felt right if Caboose went to a club and somehow passed out in the toilet or something. Though, admittedly, he was more likely to do that on his more wild party nights (Bow-chicka-bow-wow!), but he could just as easily picture Caboose attempting to make balloon animals out of condoms again. Tucker had been desperately trying to avoid explaining what those actually were or having anything at all akin to "the talk" with the younger man.

If he wasn't ready to have those kinds of discussions with Junior anytime in the near future, he sure as fuck wasn't going to have them with his teammate yet!

"Sure. It's not like we're in a fucking war with these people or anything." Felix shrugged himself, the sarcasm practically dripping from his words: "What's the harm, right?"

Tucker raised a black eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of the comment.

Granted, this wasn't the first time Felix had disagreed with decisions made by either Kimball or other Resistance members. He usually loved making sarcastic comments about Tucker's tactical decisions in general, which was probably why the two always argued if they spoke for more than two minutes to one another. Still, the mercenary had been a little testier about things after the peace talk stall.

Not that Tucker could blame him, really, as the whole situation was putting pretty much everyone around here on edge. That was probably one of the reasons why he was personally looking forward to Donut's party planning for a change despite how insane it was in the face of everything. It would be a chance to relax for a bit.

"Dude, if these guys were any sort of actual threats or if pissing them off could somehow make things any worse, there is no fucking way Kimball would have agreed." Tucker told him, "These idiots are harmless. Believe me."

"For the most part, I do. Having met them in person and all." Felix paused then, looking at Tucker sharply, "But the Freelancer you tried decking today is on a whole different level than the other soldiers you're talking about."

Well, yeah. For all of his weird awkwardness if you somehow managed to get him flustered, Tucker would probably not classify Agent Washington on the same capability level as run-of-the-mill Above Ground soldiers like Church of Simmons.

He'd seen enough of Freelancers to know they had their own special category: the crazy-ass-but-terrifyingly-capable one.

"Can you honestly fucking picture a Freelancer hanging out with a bunch of loudmouthed idiots at a club?" The Resistance fighter asked disbelievingly, deciding it was better to joke in this case just to take the serious level in the room down a notch.

Besides, even trying to imagine it himself was all sorts of hilarious. Tucker was fairly certain from the instances where they'd interacted that Washington had a pretty lengthy stick up his ass on his best days.

He had to honestly work very hard to stifle a snicker at the thought of him at a party.

The mercenary didn't seem too swayed by his joke though, "You never know."

"If he is, I promise that we'll all be on our fucking best behavior." Tucker rolled his eyes.

"Which isn't at all encouraging, given the stunt you pulled back then."

There was a sharpness in Felix's voice as he spoke. The hand that caught his combat knife's hilt this time tensed minutely, just enough for Tucker to perceive it.

Yep, he probably had spit in his food earlier. Asshole.

Tucker didn't say anything, for once deciding not to make a smartass comment in retaliation. Even though nothing had happened, the other man's annoyance with him was probably more than justified given the potential cluster-fuck that could have occurred if things had played out differently.

At least Tucker was man enough to admit to his mistake this time, he supposed. One time event only, though.

When Felix realized he wasn't going to snipe back this time as per their usual banter and perhaps surmising why, he sighed and changed tact. His tone took on a more conversational note as he asked, "So, how do you even know that Freelancer?"

"I wouldn't say I know him fucking personally or anything like that." Tucker told him, somewhat relieved that at least things were moving past his earlier poor judgment, "You'd have to ask North or one of the other Freelancers for that kind of stuff."

"You mean like C.T.?" Felix looked thoughtful and Tucker was fairly certain he was assessing him just to see what Tucker's reaction would be to the mentioning of a teammate he was still visibly uncomfortable around at times, "The two of them seemed like they knew each other pretty well."

"Yeah. Like her." He shrugged, not really wanting to discuss other people's pasts when he wasn't entirely clear on them himself, "They were friends or something before joining the Above Ground army."

He had only just found that out himself in the mess hall a short while ago, when Donut had forced the two of them to listen to his "party plans."

"I only know the asshole because he knocked me out a year ago during the Above Ground siege." He said in way of further elaboration to Felix on his own connection to Washington instead.

"Oh, yeah. I was the one who found you afterwards, huh?" Felix was smiling smugly at the memory, "I thought you were dead at first."

"Yeah. You helping me to a medic was the fucking highlight of that week." Tucker rolled his eyes once more, "So, no. Beyond just wanting to get back at the asshole, I really don't know him all too well."

"I'm surprised he didn't just kill you." Felix muttered, "Most Freelancers don't have any compunction to hold back during hostile encounters."

He really wasn't in the mood to be chatting about what had happened a year ago right now. Tucker shrugged, "He was probably just having an off day."

"Right. Because that completely explains covering for you today as well." Felix said in mock agreement, rolling his eyes at Tucker's abrasiveness.

"Like I know or give a fuck about what was going on in Washington's head." The dark-skinned man sighed, just wanting to move past this conversation entirely, "He's an asshole. He probably just did that to rub it in my face that I now owe him."

Which, given the Above Grounder's comment before Felix had interrupted them after the talks, was very likely true.

"Seriously, dude, I doubt he's going to go clubbing. I don't know why you're concerned over it."

"Never said I was concerned, Tucker. Just curious." He glanced up from the knife again to regard Tucker once more, catching the hilt in a lazy grab motion without even looking to see if he had been catching that part or the blade beforehand, "So C.T. is going to be babysitting your kid while you're out, huh?"

Shit. So the fucker had been somewhere in the mess hall then. Tucker seriously regretted not having looked around him more carefully before eating now.

"Are you two up for a night of fun?" Donut asked both of them the second he had dragged the two Blue Team members over to a table.

C.T. looked somewhat apologetic, a regretful smile on her face, "Sorry, Donut. I'm not really in the mood for that sort of thing right now."

"Aw, that's too bad." The younger man had a sympathetic look cross over his features, "Is it because you ran into an old friend?"

"Partially." From the troubled expression on her face, it seemed as if the Freelancer really didn't want to elaborate on the subject any further.

"Washington seemed surprised to see you too." Tucker spoke up, unsure of whether or not he wanted to speak on the topic at all himself.

He really wasn't sure of his stance on Connecticut anymore. On the one hand, he didn't want to trust her given everything he knew about her past. But, on the other—fuck that, she was a teammate and that should count for something by now. He was fairly certain Donut had gotten a hold of both of them just to have Tucker showcase that he was giving the former Freelancer the "benefit of the doubt" or some other bullshit like that.

C.T. looked down at her food, mouth pressing into a thin line, "We were friends before Project Freelancer. He was the one who convinced me to leave when my cover was blown." She finally said curtly in way of explanation, "Probably saved my life."

"Yeah, he kind of helped me out a while ago too." Tucker managed to grin conspiratorially, even though the memory still sort of pissed him off.

"Really?" The former Freelancer looked up at him, surprised.

He nodded before jokingly asking, "Was he a smug prick about it when he decided to help you out? Or give you a head injury to do it?"

She shook her head, but the slight smile on her face this time was a genuine one and not the usual awkward one she sported in previous uneasy conversations with her teal teammate, "No, sadly. You must be special."

"Don't I know it!"

"I'd love to hear about that later, though." Her demeanor had relaxed somewhat as the two of them were actually somewhat joking around together for a change, "He is way too serious for his own good now."

Tucker scoffed, grinning himself, "You're telling me. First time the asshole cracked a joke I thought I'd gone crazy."

Watching the exchange, the pink-armored soldier was smiling himself with something akin to a knowing look in his brown eyes. Donut had definitely set the whole thing up, Tucker would surmise later, just to get them on friendlier terms. Grif's teammate was a bit craftier at times than he usually ever let on.

"What about you, Tucker?" the Red Team member asked when a more companionable silence fell over the group a few moments later, "You're coming, right? Grif said he'd be there."

"Only because he probably wants to make out with his husband." Tucker was only partially joking with that line, though he frowned when thinking of his response to Donut's actual inquiry, "As much as I love any excuse I can get to have a good time, Donut, with Junior I just can't—"

"Oh, I thought of that!" Donut cut him off, beaming, "You definitely can't take a child to a bar, after all! Even one as responsible as Junior."

Yeah, Tucker was fairly certain that logic was a little off in so many different ways. But, it was probably best to just let the younger soldier continue through with his thought process.

"With all of your usual babysitters preoccupied by other things, that leaves you in a pretty tight spot." Donut was shaking his head as he spoke, the matter apparently being one he had been considering quite carefully, "And not the good kind of tight spot you usually want to be in, you know?"

Tucker was fairly certain he did not want to know what Donut meant by that, truthfully. He sure as Hell wasn't going to ask the blonde to elaborate on it further.

Donut tapped the table with his index finger absentmindedly thinking out loud, "But, if you still want to go because parties are so few and far between and you've heard how awesome my events are from Grif…"

Tucker hadn't, though he knew Grif had recurring nightmares about someone he would only refer to as "Officer Hot Pants" on occasion.

"If you think it's better for Junior to have a babysitter because of all of the Above Ground shenanigans in case something happens, then there's an obvious solution."

Tucker was honestly not sure if he should be worried or not given the sudden light shining in the other soldier's eyes.

"Why not just let C.T. here babysit the little guy tonight?" he asked, finally getting to the point of his long line of dialogue.

"Me?" She looked just as surprised at the suggestion as Tucker felt.

"Her?"

Both teammates regarded each other incredulously following their comments.

"It could be a trust-building exercise!" Donut smiled happily, obviously thinking this was the perfect solution to everything, "Only instead of falling backwards, there's a person's well-being to look after!"

"Donut! You can't just decide that for people!" Tucker groaned in exasperation.

"Why not?" Donut looked undeterred by Tucker's reaction, "C.T., you don't mind since we're all on free time, right?"

She blinked, taken aback at the turn of events and glancing over at Tucker as if to see how well he was handling the idea, "It's not like I really had anything planned."

"You don't mind kids, do you?" Donut was smiling hopefully.

"They're fine." She bit her lip, glancing between the two other people at the table to determine where exactly this was going to go.

"Junior's a great kid! Very low maintenance." Donut would have been an excellent salesman given his handling of the conversation right now, "You'll love him."

C.T. looked at the pink-armored soldier for a moment longer without saying anything as if trying to read his expression. Then she glanced over at Tucker, looking hesitant but not as adverse to the idea as he had expected her to be given how quickly the whole thing had been orchestrated, "I wouldn't mind doing it, but it's up to you, Tucker."

Right, because they really had only ever been civil to each other and she probably didn't want to overstep any boundaries.

"I think it's about time you guys trusted each other a little more, don't you?" Donut spoke up, his voice oddly sage-like given its usual bubbly tone, "You've been teammates for how long, now?"

Of course, they both knew it wasn't nearly as simple as Donut was trying to make it out to be, but still…

"I would do my best to look out for Junior, Tucker. No matter what else you want to think of me."

Oddly enough, Tucker didn't doubt his teammate's sincerity in the slightest.

She usually had been rather conscientious of Junior whenever Tucker had brought him to the Resistance base before. She also tended to work well with Caboose and looked after him too. Their childlike teammate was, in a lot of ways, arguably more of a handful than Junior given his oddball tendencies.

So, yeah. He knew she would look out for his son.

He caught the knowing smile on Donut's face and knew that he was probably aware of it too, otherwise he wouldn't have even brought up the idea in the first place. Donut wouldn't risk Junior just to try to prove a point if he wasn't trusting of the outcome.

The "lightish red" member of Red Team was definitely a bit craftier than he often tended to get credit for.

Tucker sighed, "I'll fucking hold you to that, C.T."

The brunette looked somewhat surprised and relieved all at once. Tucker couldn't help smiling slightly in response to the expression forming on her face at his willingness to entrust her with someone so important to him.

It perhaps didn't seem like a huge dynamic shift to someone outside of their group, but it really was. Junior was his kid and he wouldn't leave him with just anyone after all, so it was certainly a step in a positive direction between the two team members.

"Excellent! I'm glad you're going to go then, Tucker." Donut was grinning, probably immensely pleased that his whole plan had worked, "When there are challenges to overcome, leave it to me to figure out ways to get over them. Nailing things is what I do best!"

Both the teal-armored soldier and C.T. exchanged a look then, shaking their heads as Tucker started to regret agreeing to this whole thing now thanks to that last remark. However, Donut was already excitedly going into his thoughts on appropriate dress attire, so it was too late really to do anything but get caught up in his excitement and go along with it.

"Yeah." Tucker nodded along with his confirmation to Felix's question, looking at the mercenary warily and wondering what his point was, "Why are you asking?"

"No reason. I just didn't know the two of you trusted each other enough for that yet is all." Felix tossed the knife into the air again, "Given how she signed up and everything."

"She's been on my team for months now, and has probably helped the Resistance out a lot before then." It felt odd defending a teammate he still wasn't quite sure how he felt about completely himself, though Tucker became slightly surer of the words as they came to him, "I figured I owe her a little bit more trust now."

"If you say so." Felix really didn't sound as if he cared either way. He glanced over at Tucker again, grinning, "You know, if you ever need a babysitter in the future, I'm available for the right amount of money."

He rolled his eyes at the obvious joke. Then again, Felix would do just about anything if the price was right so he could be halfway serious: "Please. You'd probably just sell him off to the highest bidder."

"Of course," Felix definitely seemed to be enjoying this dialogue now, "Alien tech is a fucking goldmine. Half-alien spawns are sure to break the damn bank."

He wasn't sure if Felix was joking or being serious. It was hard to tell with him sometimes, especially when it came to money. Probably a combination of both.

"I take it you aren't going to the party then?"

The other man harrumphed, putting his knife back in its holster and crossing his arms over his chest lazily as he scoffed, "I have a whole list of things I'd rather waste my time doing, Tucker. My rep would never live that down."

Right. Besides, if memory served him, Tucker recalled Felix mentioning a few days ago in a more serious moment that he hadn't heard anything about that asshole mercenary Locus in a while through his contacts. That had apparently concerned Felix enough to devote most of his free time recently to finding out what he was up to: "Because it is never a good thing when that fucking dick goes off the grid."

The two had history together, apparently, through having belonged to the same mercenary unit awhile ago. Though, apparently, it hadn't been a stellar history considering how Felix had been even more willing to join the Resistance once he had found out that Locus was working for Above Ground.

Tucker could understand the animosity though, given some of the horror stories he'd heard about the guy following the siege.

Despite how often they tended to butt heads, Tucker supposed he could respect that about Felix in a way. He was helping the Resistance out a lot after all. He could have easily bailed earlier given how he had no real personal stake in anything that was going on beyond the Locus connection.

"More ladies for me then." The Resistance fighter joked, not wanting things to get too serious in his own head.

"Have you seen me, Tucker? You're lucky I'm not going. You'd never have a chance with me there." Felix smirked, his self-esteem clearly at its usual very high level, "Not that you'll have much of one anyways."

"Oh, fuck you." He rolled his eyes again, whatever odd bonding moment they just had officially over with that jab, "You just don't want to go because you don't want to pay for drinks."

"Of course not. Do you know how much money I'd have to spend to get drunk enough to actually enjoy hanging out with you?" The mercenary shuddered.

Well, nice to know things were at least back to normal between the two comrades in arms. Whether or not that was for better or worse though, Tucker honestly couldn't say.

"It would probably permanently damage my liver on top of that."

Probably for the worst.

Suddenly, Tucker was very much looking forward to Donut's odd get-together even more.

---

If Bitters wasn't used to some amount of crazy by now coming out of the mouths of those around him, he was fairly certain his head would have exploded long ago.

"You're fucking kidding me." The young man muttered, more to himself than with any real hope of the ridiculous notion he had just heard changing, "A party?"

"I know, right?" Kaikaina was glaring angrily at her older sibling sitting next to her as he was currently too enthralled with stuffing his face than with responding himself, "This asshole's been rubbing it in my face the whole time since I can't go!"

"What can I say?" Dexter Grif finally finished inhaling his food. Thank God for that: watching the captain eat never really put Bitters in much of a mood to finish a meal himself. He was honestly surprised the orange-armored soldier hadn't choked at some point given how much food he tended to stuff in there all at once.

The older Grif sibling shrugged his shoulders in a disinterested fashion, though there was an odd twinkle in his brown eyes that looked very much to Bitters like poorly concealed mirth at his little's sister predicament. Bitters had siblings of his own. Not that he cared to admit it now, but he had used the same look as Grif's far too often himself, "I guess there are some perks with having to be forced to "volunteer" for fake peace talks by your crazy C.O. with a shotgun after all."

"You suck!" Kaikaina stuck her tongue out at her older brother and harrumphed, which only made Grif smirk more.

Bitters supposed he could understand how elated the older Resistance soldier was at something that Sarge had forced on his chubbier subordinate partially as punishment for Grif "simply being Grif" inadvertently backfiring. Getting to tease Kaikaina about it in the process probably made the whole thing even more enjoyable to him.

Currently all of the lieutenants had decided to venture to the mess hall together after Sarge had finally decided that they could use some free time to reenergize and get some food.

Kaikaina had rejoined them after finishing her "scouting mission," dragging her brother along with her after having left Lopez with Sarge. Though Bitters suspected that the young woman in yellow armor hadn't really needed to be too persuasive to get him to come along with her, so long as Captain Grif had been able to get something to eat before plopping down to shoot the breeze with the newer recruits. He was obviously very food motivated.

"A party, though?" Matthews spoke up from further down the table. Smith was sitting in between them, so Bitters couldn't see his face fully at the moment though he saw enough to discern that his teammate was biting his lip in the way he usually did when worried over something, "That's a little…odd, given the situation. Don't you think, sir?"

Total kiss-ass mode already. Bitters sighed inwardly, glad that Matthews was only asking questions in a respectful fashion instead of volunteering to do extra jobs or something.

"Well, it was Donut's suggestion. So, yeah. Probably." Grif shrugged his shoulders again dismissively, as if that explained everything.

Perhaps in a way it did, given how prone to eccentricity Donut was. Though, in fairness to a fighter who had been in the Resistance longer than Bitters had, pretty much most members of the Resistance could be viewed as poster children for eccentric behavior. It wasn't like the pink armored soldier was alone there. Being weird didn't seem to be a requirement for joining the Resistance or anything, but it certainly seemed like it would help you fit in better.

"But, with all of the drama over the peace talks still, is that such a good idea?" Volleyball was frowning.

"Kimball did give her permission, so I am sure there is no real risk there." Smith spoke up from his spot next to Bitters before Grif could respond to the blonde's question.

That seemed to ease some of the doubt floating amongst the table, if nothing else. Everyone looked a little less nervous at the reminder of the Resistance leader's decision earlier. The older lieutenant always seemed so very sure of his superiors' decisions. It was hard sometimes not to want to try to be that way more too when Smith talked, though Bitters was still not quite sure he'd call any of the tactics that Caboose or Sarge came up with as "brilliant" anytime soon. Plus, he was still convinced most of the tasks that Grif asked him or Matthews to do for him could be chalked up more to sheer laziness on his part than anything else.

"A lot of us know the Above Grounders who would even possibly consider going to the dumb thing in the first place. Kimball included. They aren't going to do anything to make things any fucking worse than they already are. Believe me." Grif said with an odd sense of finality in his voice that was pretty rare to hear coming from him. The fighter never got too emphatic on anything, after all.

Kaikaina was regarding her brother with a knowing smirk plastered on her face, "Oh, please. You're just saying that because the guy you're married to is probably going to be there."

"Really?" Jensen let out a rather loud squeak at the proclamation, glancing over at Volleyball with an excited look starting to form in her brown eyes.

They'd all heard about those rumors largely thanks to Kaikaina and Tucker who always seemed to enjoy sharing embarrassing stories about Grif from their time growing up in Low Town together. Which, in turn, would have Grif retaliating by telling embarrassing stories about them if he found out about it. It was one of those amusing repeating circles to see in action as an outside spectator.

For some reason, Jensen's reaction reminded Bitters of another rumor he had heard recently about how the girls had a betting pool going on regarding "potential couples."

Oddly enough, he'd even heard his name being mentioned for it once or twice, though Bitters never found out how accurate said rumor was or who exactly he'd been paired up with for it. He'd have to care more to actually be curious enough to get people to elaborate, and a part of him was sort of suspecting that it might be best not to know what was truly going on there.

Though every so often he would catch Jensen, Volleyball, or Kaikaina looking at him with eager eyes whenever he entered or left a room with Matthews and he wondered if he should be a little worried. Or, if he should wonder about how much money they were possibly putting up on that sort of thing, as Kaikaina in particular seemed like someone who would take her gambling seriously.

The little bit of knowledge he did have always made him feel both oddly amused and scared all at once. Since Matthews seemed oblivious to it as he was far too busy looking to suck up to older Resistance fighters for that kind of gossip usually, Bitters decided it wasn't something he needed to dwell on too much.

Last thing he needed was for his teammate to find out about it and get really awkward. The first two weeks after they had been assigned to the same sleeping quarters at the base had been way too weird for his taste as it was. Now that they'd fallen into a comfortable enough rhythm and were something of friends, Bitters would prefer keeping it that way for his own convenience if nothing else.

Grif glared at his sister following that last remark and mumbled, "Knock that out, Kai."

"I'm just saying!" she grinned, "Do you know how much money I could be up for?"

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes before her words seemed to sink in moments later, a grimace forming on his face, "Wait, what?"

She didn't wait for his outburst to continue, which it most likely would have given how red-faced he'd suddenly become. Instead, Kaikaina turned around to look pointedly at both Bitters and Matthews sitting across from her, "You two need to get busy as well. I've had to cut back on buying booze and it majorly sucks!"

"Kaikaina!" Volleyball admonished, "It doesn't count if you put the idea in their heads!"

"Yeah!" Jensen agreed quickly, nodding her head emphatically, "That's cheating!"

Poor Matthews looked as if he was about to choke to death on the drink he had unfortunately just been starting to swallow when this whole turn of events went down. His face turned completely red and it was almost taking on a purple hue right up to his hairline.

Smith was already moving his arm behind the yellow-trimmed fighter, just in case he would need to start pounding on the poor kid's back in the next few seconds to help get him breathing again.

Bitters felt his own face involuntarily heat up. Yeah, he definitely had not wanted to know what exactly they'd been betting on with the two of them. He made a quick mental note that he needed to find new friends and find them fucking fast.

"Goddamn it, Kai! What have I told you about making bets on sex?" Grif's face had become even redder in the last few seconds, though Bitters honestly couldn't tell whether it was more due to embarrassment or frustration.

"I thought you said I couldn't bet on my having sex anymore." The tan girl looked exasperated, as if even recalling that was kind of annoying.

"Um…" Palomo leaned over the table to stage whisper to Jensen sitting across from him, "That would count as cheating, right?" He asked, sounding completely confused.

Before the girl could even respond to the private, Bitters let out his customary, "Shut the fuck up, Palomo."

"Well, you clearly haven't gotten any yet." His friend said way-too-cheerfully, smiling as if an idea had just come to him. He faced Kaikaina and the other two girls, "Can I get in on the betting then?"

Seriously. New friends all over the goddamned place.

"No one is fucking betting on anything." Grif said through the hand that was now covering his face. The urge to face palm had hit Bitters pretty hard as well just a few seconds ago as Palomo was talking, so he could understand the sentiment.

The captain peered through the spaces in his fingers over at the still hyperventilating Matthews and the very concerned-looking Smith. The older recruit was the only one of the lieutenants thankfully who was no longer paying attention to the conversation going on around them, all of his focus on Matthews' reaction. From the look forming in his blue eyes it seemed as if Smith was trying to go through a mental checklist in his head of what he might need to do if the younger man passed out.

"Can we please change the subject to practically anything else?"

"Aw, you're no fun." Kaikaina stuck her tongue out at her brother.

"Actually, I am loads of fun." Grif took full advantage of her comment to get the focus away from the whole "bet" situation, smirking somewhat as he went on to say, "Did you hear about how I got invited to a party?"

"Oh, you really do suck!"

Kaikaina was pouting and her sibling was grinning triumphantly. Bitters regarded Captain Grif thankfully, his teasing having taken focus off of the betting matter entirely it seemed. Given the focus on him during it, Bitters was rather immensely grateful for the conversational shift.

Smith seemed relieved as well, letting out a sigh and relaxing somewhat into his seat once more now that Matthews' face appeared to be starting to return to something akin to a more natural shade of color.

Palomo switched gears pretty quickly following the sudden turn in conversation. He had always been like that, ever since they were kids: his ability to adapt so quickly was one of the traits his friend had that Bitters was actually secretly impressed with, "A party sounds like a good idea though! Maybe we should have one here. Once we get through Sarge's training."

"Working with Sarge? You guys would definitely have earned it by the time this whole training routine is done." Grif said, looking thoughtful, "I know I am looking forward to getting to relax."

"Don't you relax any chance you can get though, sir?" Bitters asked, before he could stop himself and think about what he was saying. Not that he usually ever did though. Besides, it seemed as if Grif somehow respected him a bit more for speaking his mind.

Grif sighed sadly and said in a rather fake profound manner: "It's a totally different and wondrous thing when you're actually given permission to do so, Bitters."

Well, the lieutenant supposed there was a bizarre sort of sense to that logic even if he was well-aware that Grif had more than likely just then blown it out of his ass.

"Oh, yeah!" Kaikaina glanced over at Bitters then, recollection dawning on her tanned features, "Forgot to tell you earlier, Bitters, but the crazy old guy said he wanted to talk to you after dinner."

"Really?" He blinked in surprise.

The only comments Sarge had made to him throughout the day during training had been disparaging remarks about his first attempt at the obstacle course. Or lack thereof, in Sarge's opinion. The older Resistance soldier also had negative remarks about his poor choice in armor color trim: "I can't for the life of me figure out why any self-respecting, decent soldier would want to wear orange as their color! It's even worse than blue!"

Bitters sort of figured he would have been the last recruit Sarge would want to interact with outside of training.

"Yeah. I wasn't paying attention all that much because he kept rambling on and on and, really, old people kind of suck. But, I'm pretty sure he mentioned you." She frowned, brown eyes narrowing in thought, "Or he was bitter about orange juice."

"Orange juice is supposed to be bitter, isn't it?" Palomo asked thoughtfully, tapping his finger to his chin and grinning, "Or is orange juice sour? Either way, if it's really good you always make a face when you drink it!"

Palomo turned to the orange-trimmed fighter then. He seemed to be contemplating something else entirely. His childhood friend's mind went all over the place. It was hard to keep track of which train of thought he'd land on next.

"Although, you'd probably know all about bitter stuff, huh, Bitters?" The young man's brown eyes were lit up with mischief, "You know, because of your name and everything!"

He groaned at Palomo's lame attempt at a name pun, "Shut the fuck up, Palomo."

"Oh, Bitters is definitely bitter!" Palomo laughed at his own joke, the other people around him rolling their eyes slightly.

Bitters didn't even have the energy to respond beyond sighing in exasperation, so he just ignored his friend this time. Instead, his mind continued to wonder about whatever it was that Sarge could possibly want to see him about.

He thought he'd done pretty okay after he got his act together today, so it couldn't be because he was still mad about earlier. Could it? Did the old guy want him to do even more drills to make up for it?

He hoped not. His body was still aching all over. He honestly wasn't sure how Palomo could still be his usual cheerful self given that he'd done the exact same exercises.

Plus, Sarge hadn't apparently asked for Palomo. Maybe that wasn't it at all. But, if that was the case, Bitters had no fucking clue what the commanding officer would want with just him outside of all of the other newer recruits also involved in training.

Grif seemed to catch the puzzled look in his eyes as Bitters fell quiet, regarding the younger man with the utmost seriousness as he said, "Just remember: if Sarge orders you to go shooting at Freckles or something else as ridiculously stupid, it is okay to tell him to go fuck himself."

Bitters wasn't even going to ask how often Sarge had ordered Captain Grif to do that. Knowing the two of them and how they interacted, it was probably fairly frequently.

The conversation around him drifted back to the usual topics: the food being served, what the peace talks could possibly be really for (no one even bought up the diplomatic angle anymore), how training had been today (in his book? He would go for "It sucked, but was probably necessary."), and future parties.

They discussed both the party being orchestrated by Donut that no one at the table save for Grif could go to, as well as a possible future one that apparently Palomo had somehow convinced everyone else would be a fun idea when Bitters had been lost in thought. He could hear Jensen and Volleyball laughing and could see both Grif and Smith shaking their heads as Palomo and Kaikaina debated what sort of strippers would be best for what kind of party.

Since there were no more major sounds of coughing or sputtering coming from the opposite side of Smith anymore, Bitters cast a questioning glance over at Matthews to see if he had fully recovered yet.

The second his teammate saw that Bitters was looking over in his direction, Matthews' face turned a particularly virulent shade of red once more underneath his glasses. His teammate quickly turned to face the opposite direction from Bitters, apparently all of a sudden finding the wall that was a few feet away from their table completely fascinating from a structural stance.

Which probably meant thanks to the whole stupid "betting pool" incident, Matthews would be awkwardly avoiding even making small talk or eye contact with him at all for probably a week at least.

Goddamn it.

Bitters groaned in frustration at the realization, trying to think of ways he could get them back to talking again quicker if only for the sake of making rooming together not as weird. Though he did like just hanging out with his teammate and had gotten pretty used to it as well, so there were probably a lot of different reasons why the thought of Matthews avoiding him out of embarrassment was annoying him. The lieutenant started to legitimately wonder once again if perhaps he shouldn't find new friends soon given all of this crap.

Not that it would really matter if Sarge decided to have him do something ridiculously suicidal later on. Maybe he was perhaps better off not making any effort and taking his chances.

If he wasn't dead by then, at least this whole party thing sounded like it could be marginally interesting.

---

Kimball placed her helmet down on the desk in front of her with a heavy sigh before sitting down in the uncomfortable chair behind it, staring tiredly at the screens of datapads that littered the surface of her cramped workspace.

On the wall she noted the flashing away of one computer terminal's screen. She used that particular computer to end each day with a log report and it seemed as if the built-in timer for that particular task had just gone off. The message on the screen was an inquiry about whether or not she would like to start filing her entry for the day, as though the program was afraid she'd forget despite her constant habit and figured flashing brightly in an annoying two-second pattern would be enough of an incentive for her to pay attention to it.

Honestly, though? She couldn't think of a damn thing to say in a log right now.

She groaned inwardly, glancing away from the terminal at the sudden traitorous thought she had of just skipping the silly thing for tonight.

A part of her berated herself for even thinking it. After all, she had started the habit of recording entries for herself when she accepted the nomination as the leader of the Resistance so many years ago. That had been a lifetime now, it seemed.

Things had been so chaotic back then in the wake of the Insurrection attack on Above Ground and the subsequent massacre on Level One.

The surviving members of the remaining resistance groups that had somehow managed to pull through the ordeal had formed the Resistance proper as it stood now. It had been a nightmarish, tumultuous mess in getting there though.

There had been three people who had led in those early stages before her, whose legacies she had somehow been entrusted with. Good people, too, with far more experience in the field than she could ever claim to have. She had been rather disappointed to realize that there weren't any lasting notes from them for her to draw some semblance of guidance from.

She could hardly blame them, though, given everything that had been going on around that time. Still, she had been desperate for some insight into what to do for the group she suddenly found herself leading. Giving orders out on the field to small groups of comrades, she had been fine with. Or, at the very least, learned to adapt to doing when she ended up having to do so. Leading a large-scale movement? That was something she knew next to nothing about, something she could never be comfortable with.

After all, Vanessa Kimball hadn't even really wanted to be a soldier.

She had joined one of the more peaceful resistance factions when just out of her teens simply because she had believed that the people in the Slums deserved better rights. Most people who had joined one of the resistance factions often agreed on that subject. It was only their methods on trying to attain said rights that were quite different, which is how groups such as the Insurrection came about.

Young Kimball had felt the cause was right. She had lost quite a bit herself due to the unfair treatment of Slums dwellers by Above Ground. She never tried dwelling on that now. She never really tried to discuss her past anymore either. But, back then? She had simply wanted to help support the resistance cause in some way. That had been her only goal originally.

It still shocked her to think on how she had survived firefights and battles that had killed far better fighters than herself. Almost amazed her that somehow in the heat of those panic-inducing situations she had been able to stay calm on the surface and think rationally, even as her insides had been close to turning to jelly with how terrified she'd been internally.

People had always praised her for that, after the fact. She could only shake her head in muted disbelief.

The truth was that Vanessa Kimball had wanted to be a leader even less than she had wanted to be a soldier.

She cared about what happened to her comrades on the battlefield and that had been it. The thought of having to run an entire army, of having to make those "tough decisions" she had always sympathized with but hated even more? That wasn't something she'd even remotely considered for herself.

But, no one else was left by then. Everything had been close to collapse. Without someone in charge, the Resistance would have been dead for sure—and its soldiers' corpses thrown about as a reason why even stricter measures in the Slums would be necessary. Maybe even used as an excuse for why another Level One example had to be made: she certainly hadn't forgotten that the Insurrection had already been killed off by the time Above Ground's Council had decided on that particular course of action.

The mourning for those lost on Level One continued, as did the mourning for comrades and friends all around her on a constant basis.

Thus she stepped into a role she still felt completely inadequate for.

Truthfully, Kimball hadn't expected to survive as a leader for too long given how quickly the succession rate had been before she took up the position. Many of the newer recruits didn't even know the names of the previous leaders because of that, a fact that she still felt greatly saddened by. Because of that, she had wanted for there to be something akin to a record for whomever her own personal successor ended up being—no matter how poorly a leader she ended up being in the end due to her lack of experience.

So, she had started keeping a log. As the months rolled by and she somehow continued to defy the odds by continuing to not be dead, maintaining the log became something of a cathartic release for her at the end of the day. It was a chance to review and reflect on decisions made and whether or not she felt there had been any good ones in the batch.

Truthfully, she still didn't think of herself as much of a leader, but it helped her once more put on a good show of it the following day.

She had told Sarge about it once, after the older man had joined the Resistance: a downtrodden, disheartened Above Grounder who could no longer fight for his place of birth. It had been shortly after she had been made the new leader, as he'd ventured into the Slums only a few weeks following her nomination. She mentioned it to him purely out of curiosity, as she wondered if to someone with actual military experience, the notion of keeping such a log would seem to be a silly one.

Sarge had said it was more natural than she thought, so long as she didn't start calling it a "danged diary" or something else equally less army sounding.

Later on, she even suggested to some of the other soldiers that perhaps they might like to try making their own logs out as well. She honestly wasn't sure if they had bothered doing so or not, though she imagined some of their personal entries would be quite amusing if they had kept them up.

In that same conversation, she had also told Sarge that she considered him the logical choice for the next leader of the Resistance whenever something did end up happening to her given his personal experience. She figured it was perhaps better to get a successor out in the open already as it had been chaos when the leader before her had been killed since he had never discussed the issue of "next in line" with older soldier simply laughed at her suggestion.

"If you're dead than there's no way I'd ever be able to replace you 'cause I'd be dead long before with my last shotgun shell lodged in some poor bastard's head." Sarge had made it a point to joke about it and tried to avoid bringing up how when he had first met her he had accidentally called her by a different name.

Kimball knew now that it had been because she resembled one of his favorite subordinates during his military career. One of the ones he had actually watched get killed on a mission that he knew had been a completely unnecessary one.

Sarge had actually asked her to record what had really happened then in her logs after finally telling her about it later, unusually quiet and serious for his generally boisterous attitude. He wasn't much into that kind of sentiment himself to keep a log personally, but she had known Sarge wanted some knowledge of what had truly happened to his subordinate to exist in case something did happen to him.

So, she certainly knew how important those logs could be, even if they seemed completely useless in other ways.

As a result, not being able to think of what to say for one now was oddly upsetting to her.

But, really, what could she say? At the moment, everything was simply playing into Chairman Hargrove and the Council's hands. They had their arms tied figuratively behind their backs and at the moment no one in the Resistance even knew why. She actually had to desperately fight down the urge to shoot the man himself when he called for the stall earlier that day. In a way, she'd been grateful for Tucker's earlier actions with Washington and for seeing Church and the other Above Grounders again simply because it had been a welcome distraction for a situation that made her want to repeatedly punch something.

Powerlessness combined with a lack of knowledge was a devastating state of mind to be locked into, for everyone who lived down here in the Slums.

She frowned, brain working in overdrive to try to make sense of it all. The Resistance leader tried almost desperately to focus on something other than her growing frustration. Which didn't help, unfortunately, as worst case scenarios began playing in a loop through her mind.

"There's really nothing we can do but play along for now like the good little puppets they seem to think we are." Felix had told her quietly on the way back to base, "Continue to leave the information gathering to small groups still, so they aren't at a huge risk of detection."

The mercenary had taken his leave soon after to discuss something with Tucker. She hoped the two could keep from getting into a shouting match with one another again. Felix was no doubt going on his own personal information hunt now that he wasn't needed currently for bodyguard duties thanks to the postponement. He'd quickly become indispensable in that regard, thanks to his black market connections and his ties to various parties who weren't as loyal to either side but kept a close watch on both all the same.

Kimball was actually rather surprised to realize just how quickly she'd become used to him always being around to discuss things with. She was his employer, after all, so he always made it a point to be close by in case he could get her approval for an increase in his cut of specialized tech from a mission by helping out with particularly tricky assignments. She suspected if he did find something out, he'd be negotiating a price increase for the information too and, at this point in time, she would be more than willing to give it simply because they had nothing currently.

For a brief moment she thought that maybe checking in on Sarge to see how training was going and to hear his thoughts on things would help get her thoughts to focus.

She imagined his point of view would all boil down to "This is exactly why the best diplomatic approach is just to shoot 'em!" in this instance though, which was both amusing and painfully tempting right about now.

As unorthodox as he could be, the red-armored soldier had become an irreplaceable confidante to her since he'd joined. Sometimes just having his irrational ideas to bounce her own off of was cathartic in its own way. The two of them would often go to the target practice range just to have discussions and also so that he could show her how he personally liked to blow off steam. Sarge did complain a bit that she requested they shoot at something beyond Holo-Grifs when they did so, but he eventually relented.

Not to mention, Sarge was right: sometimes shooting things was mighty relaxing.

At the very least, she'd be doing something instead of just mulling over things dejectedly and getting even more stressed.

There was a light knock on the doorframe and she glanced up, having not even realized that the door had slid open. She was surprised to see former Freelancer agent North Dakota standing there, his pale blue eyes regarding her apologetically.

"Sorry," North glanced over at the timer and question prompt still flashing annoyingly on the screen of her wall terminal, "Didn't realize you were in the middle of something."

Her back straightened and she waved a dismissive hand over the datapads on her desk. The info found on them disappearing as they powered down. Kimball had looked over them so often that, by now, she could probably review their information from memory in her sleep whenever she was finally able to get some rest in the future.

"I'm not. Not really. I was just going over some things from today." She stood up and walked to the terminal, for the moment canceling the prompt to start her log.

"I can imagine." North regarded her sympathetically, a slight smile on his face, "Things got quite lively, I hear."

"An understatement." Her smile in response was a wry one, "I suppose no one can blame them for wanting to let loose a little steam after that, huh?"

She had a feeling he already knew about the whole party event that Donut had orchestrated. Word of mouth spread quickly at the base, especially when it wasn't really much of a secret to begin with. Donut was quite excited about it, after all. She could just picture the younger man telling pretty much anyone willing to listen about it.

"Not in the slightest. I think it should be good for them." There was a warm light in his eyes then, as he thought of something else, "Actually, Tucker and C.T. seem to be on friendlier terms now too which I'm glad for."

North always did have a tendency to look out for his comrades. The tenseness between his former teammate and her new team member had been one he had especially not enjoyed seeing over the last few months, she recalled. North seemed the sort to prefer his friends getting along if they could.

She'd always liked that trait in the former Freelancer. Personally, she could also understand it quite a bit as she always emphasized training in group dynamics. In a way, that common ground had helped the two of them develop a good working relationship rather quickly when the first three Freelancer defectors had arrived at one of the previous Resistance bases.

She glanced over at him, noting how he was back in armor now. When she'd seen him, Tex, and York before the peace talks had begun all three had been dressed in plain civilian clothes for their assigned roles.

The former Freelancers certainly moved quickly. It seemed they were always prepared for the next move. They were quite efficient that way.

"I was just about to start on my patrol like York did, as per orders." North seemed to pick up on the meaning behind her look easily enough, "Tex is on standby."

She nodded, mouth pressing into a thin line, "Good. Felix is heading out as well. I was just about to inform Sarge of things and get ready to tighten regular patrols."

They maybe wouldn't be sending out large patrols to collect intelligence at the moment, but that didn't mean they were going to be careless enough to not be more cautious about security around the base or the Slums in general.

There was no such thing as a free moment for too long down here, after all.

The dark-skinned woman was almost envious of Tucker and the others for their brief respite—though she knew everyone deserved it. Actually, in their own way, the party group was also helping by keeping up the appearance to the Council that perhaps the Resistance wasn't being as cautious about the situation as they actually were. She personally viewed any kind of action that could lull the higher-ups of Above Ground into a sense of complacency was a potentially vital one.

Maybe, once things had settled here, she would try to ensure everyone else had a moment's rest too. It would be nice if it were possible, at least.

The blonde nodded in response to her statement, turning to leave once more.

Before he completely disappeared down the corridor though, North turned back to the office again. A new thought seemed to have crossed his mind as he showed off a self-deprecating smile, "I wouldn't mind having some support on my patrol though. My close combat skills aren't quite as polished as they used to be."

Right. On account of his past injury.

Kimball was about to point out that North Dakota still bested most of the Resistance fighters in hand-to-hand combat regardless and that this was more of a surveillance run besides, but then she noticed that the blonde was glancing at the terminal behind her again.

He would have considered it far too impolite and improper given her rank to say that staying cooped up in there with thoughts that only made her more exasperated wasn't going to help the situation. Knowing her, she would stay up all night doing just that once everything else had been taken care of. Hell, that was even why she'd been hoping to talk to Sarge to a degree as well! She knew damn well he had already been tightening patrols the moment this whole debacle had begun on top of training the lieutenants.

The former Freelancer was offering her the chance to do something else instead, something that would probably be more productive in the long run. Information was vital, after all, and the chance to go out on patrol given her status in the Resistance was usually far too rare. She didn't want to risk her subordinates on an as-of-yet unknown threat if she could avoid it. Since this was an intelligence gathering mission only, risk avoidance was key.

Doing something was far better than doing nothing, especially given the day of doing absolutely nothing she had just been forced to endure thanks to Hargrove and the Council's little game.

Kimball smiled gratefully, a spark of energy jolting through her tired brown eyes for the very first time that day, "I think I could have you covered there, North."

Hopefully, if nothing else, by the end of tonight she would finally have something she felt like reporting in her log.

---

"That's about it."

Church paused then, having just summarized the way-too-fucked up last couple of hours of his life over the comm-link channel.

Well, almost all of it. He decided to avoid mentioning any of the relationship drama crap because living through that goddamned bullshit once was torturous enough without having to relive it. Besides, he sincerely doubted that Carolina would have any patience for that kind of thing whatsoever. He also avoided mentioning Tex at all because he wasn't that fucking stupid and he sort of wanted to live past this forced trip.

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. Church really couldn't tell if the silence was because Carolina suspected that he had omitted some details and was annoyed. She wasn't too keen on people keeping secrets from her, though she was more than fine and dandy with doing that herself (again, he wasn't stupid enough to call her out on that though). Or maybe the quiet was because she was simply processing the information he had given her.

"Carolina?" Church asked, not sure if she would be mad at the intrusion into whatever she was probably thinking or not, "You catch all of that? Because I do not want to fucking repeat it."

He could have sworn he heard her sigh then. His lack of protocol when it came to communicating during missions did seem to always exasperate her slightly, "Yeah, Church. I got it."

Silence followed her response for a good four minutes.

He tapped a foot impatiently when it continued to linger after that, "And…?"

"And what?"

Goddamn it! She sounded bored.

He guessed everything was probably super-trivial to her compared to whatever highly classified shenanigans she was getting herself into.

Church could feel a whole new headache coming on, "Any thoughts you might be willing to share on this whole fucked up situation?"

Silence again. He honestly would not have been at all surprised if Carolina had just disconnected the line. She did that on occasion whenever she didn't feel a conversation was worth her time.

Finally though, the Freelancer spoke up, "The stall doesn't surprise me, so I am afraid if you were expecting that you will be sorely disappointed. The Council is trying to buy itself time."

"For fucking what, exactly?" The Above Ground soldier could feel his frustration growing.

"Whatever it is they're up to. It isn't for you to know." She spoke with such finality then that Church knew if he argued with his cousin over it he would more than likely very much end up regretting it.

Carolina and her goddamned secrets!

He sighed, deciding to change his line of questioning, "Okay, then. What about the other thing I mentioned?"

"You mean the party?"

Oh, fuck it! Now she almost sounded amused. That was never a good sign.

"It's a stupid idea, right?" He asked, probably making it very obvious what he was hoping her response would be given his tone.

Church had been kind of hoping that she would be so against it considering her usual stick-in-the-mud attitude and protocol focus that she would order them not to go. Then he'd have a legitimate excuse not to have to deal with the whole issue himself. He had not counted on what he was quickly discovering was his cousin's rather sadistic sense of humor poking through at his expense right about now.

"If you don't think it is a smart move, I'll—"

"Your team wants to go, I take it?" She cut him off abruptly, "The Council will have no grounds to object to it given what they just pulled."

His hope was sinking fast.

"Yeah, but—"

"Go be with your team, Church." His cousin advised, sounding rather serious once more, "Keep an eye on things. Make sure nothing bad happens."

She was right, as much as he hated to admit it. Church was the team leader, after all. Though, some days, he really wanted to vote to see if someone else wanted the damn job. Technically he should go just to make sure nothing worse than someone getting wasted and vomiting all over their shoes happened.

Fucking responsibility sucked.

"Yeah, yeah." he muttered, knowing there was no point in arguing about it anymore.

Another thought crossed his mind though almost immediately after that, "What are you going to be doing?"

Carolina had brought all of them down here and then just up and disappeared without explaining why. She was completely nonplussed about the whole stall business too. He didn't have to think too hard on those points to know that she was probably very much aware of something much larger occurring beneath the surface.

"Nothing you need to know about, Church."

He was tempted to start grumbling under his breath about fucking annoying Freelancers, but decided it would be safer for himself to sigh instead, "Fine. I probably don't want to know anyways."

"More than likely, yes." She didn't elaborate any further.

"Just…be careful, okay?" He frowned, not quite comfortable with sentimental talk but feeling like he had to say something, "It would kind of suck if you died out there and no one knew about it."

There was a heavy silence following his statement. He wondered if she had disconnected the line this time or was just too pissed to talk. There was a very large possibility she could somehow have misinterpreted his worried comment as being some sort of veiled insult about her capabilities. A lot of the time, it was hard to tell how she would read things.

"Carolina?"

"Thanks for the concern, Church. I'll try to get back in one piece."

There was an odd curtness in her voice even for her when she said that, and then the connection abruptly cut off as she chose to end the conversation.

Church stared at the hotel wall for a few moments, frowning.

Had he said something that weird, or was that Carolina just being Carolina? He knew displaying affection wasn't exactly something their family particularly excelled at.

Or it could just be another sign that he really just sucked at giving semi-motivational pep talks.

"Agent Carolina is a lot like Agent Tex, isn't she?"

He jumped at the sound of Sheila's voice, having not realized the robot had been standing in the doorway of his and Doc's hotel room—where he'd gone to contact Carolina in private.

He grinned: "Yeah, do me a favor, Sheila, and try not to mention that in front of her ever. Okay?"

The robot made a noise that could almost be something akin to a scoff, "Please, Church, I was merely making an observation. I am not self-destructive."

Church raised a black eyebrow, "Oh? Is that why you waited until after the comm-link was closed to talk?"

A nod. His friend always was the polite one, and probably the smartest one in their team when it came to reading social cues as well. Admittedly that was probably kind of sad given how she wasn't actually human, but fuck it! Church could barely tolerate most people, so like hell was he going to go out of his way to act on proper social protocol around them.

"It is good to know that we have her permission for the party." She said, "Doc and Simmons are both very excited."

"I'll bet." He rolled his eyes.

Doc being excited didn't surprise him in the slightest given the purple medic's usual desire to be friendly and social to everyone. While Simmons wasn't much of a party person and still didn't seem to think it was a necessarily smart idea, Church knew Grif was going to go to the party. Of course the maroon nerd would want to go too.

It was always a bit harder to tell with Sheila, but she seemed highly excited as well at the moment.

Church sighed when he picked up on that and realized what it probably meant, "Lopez is going too, isn't he?"

Great. He was going to have to deal with all of the relationship shit again. He could feel his brain about to explode already.

"Yes, he said he is looking forward to seeing how foolish everyone gets when alcohol is involved." She tilted her helmeted head slightly in the way she always did when she was in a contemplative mood, "I admit I am rather curious about that myself.

There were footsteps running up to the doorway then, a dark-skinned woman in white armor with purple trim suddenly appearing there behind Sheila. She sounded slightly out of breath given how quickly she'd raced over from who-knows-where, an odd sort of light shining in her dark eyes.

"Did I just hear someone talking about a party with alcohol? I love observing what alcohol poisoning does to the human body! " The woman exclaimed and then Church sort of recognized her as one of the army doctors who had been assigned to the peace talks, "Especially the brain and liver. I have some pictures if you want to see!"

"That would be most informative." Sheila inclined her head somewhat politely, "Thank you, Doctor Grey."

Ah, so that was her name then. Figures that Sheila would know given her access to personnel records.

"No need to thank me. It's always fun to share if someone's curious!" Doctor Grey grinned, "But, I wouldn't mind an invite to wherever you guys are going! Strictly for observational reasons, mind you. Totally not thinking on taking DNA samples without consent, if that's what you're thinking."

"Why would we fucking think that?" Church asked, not entirely sure he even wanted to know the answer to that given her earlier remarks.

"Oh, you know how quickly unfair rumors spread after one wild night at medical school!" She shrugged before conspiratorially whispering, "It was all blown way out of proportion if you ask me."

Church sighed and shook his head before turning to Sheila, "You know, something tells me a shitload of booze is going to be needed to make this night remotely enjoyable."

He then pretended that he didn't hear Doctor Grey's excited exclamation at his statement, preferring instead to wonder what he'd ever done to deserve this much crazy in his life.

---

Traversing tunnels would never count as a highlight of York's life since his defection. A necessary one, yes. Necessity didn't always equate to enjoyment though.

It sucked even more when he had to do it by himself, while also having to be as stealthy as possible.

He could do stealth. He could do it pretty awesomely actually, especially now that D wasn't around to try to talk to enemies using "logic" even though he missed the company more than he'd care to admit.

However, being stealthy in tunnels meant that he had to carefully pick his way through debris-filled hazard zones with hindered vision while also trying to keep his attention focused for any noises echoing around him. He found that it was rather difficult considering that most corridors were rather naturally noisy. Someone had to always strain their ears to try to discern between what was "typical tunnel noises" and the "obviously-someone-else-is-stomping-through-here" ones.

It was even more of a challenge when you didn't know what exactly you were looking for to begin with. Or if you were even remotely going in the right direction.

He wondered if North was having anymore luck on his end, or if the patrols that Sarge had been arranging had been finding anything closer to home.

With any luck, someone was bound to find out what the Council was so intent on if it was down here.

Hell, the mining tunnels and shafts were huge and seemed to go on forever. He sincerely doubted even the Above Grounders had found whatever it was they were trying to find, given the shenanigans they pulled in order to postpone the talks.

As York approached the rather disturbingly and atypical dead quiet of Tunnel 32-A, he was doubting very much that he would be the one to find anything. He almost smiled nostalgically then despite himself, remembering the first time they'd met Caboose's killer robot dog near here.

The expanse of tunnel before him was almost completely dark, the power having never been restored to this area after the mining uprising so long ago.

A massacre that had just been a front for Above Ground military to search for alien tech in the tunnels.

It was odd to think that the present seemed to be mirroring that past event in a way. Maybe it was about alien tech now too! Wouldn't that just be a kick to the balls?

The former Freelancer just really hoped that the outcome would be far different for the Slums this time.

Considering how turning on a light might negate any potential stealth angle, going in blind (he found the phrase sort of funny given who was searching) was probably the only option York had. Though he supposed night vision would help a little, at least.

Fun times, given the potential instability of the looming corridor if his memory was serving him correctly, as well as the huge amounts of rubble and trash that had been left in there.

Would it be all that stealthy if he fell flat on his face after tripping on a rock?

It was bad enough going in. It was going to majorly suck getting back out.

York sighed, figuring it was better to just get it over with. There were a lot of interconnecting tunnels and shafts that were not in frequent use around 32-A, after all. It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility that something worth sneaking through the tunnels for could still exist in them.

The former Freelancer took a few steps forward into the darkness, only to stop short at the sudden appearance of a glowing green miniature figure floating directly in front of his face.

"Hello, York." Delta's calm voice greeted him, "It is a pleasure meeting you again."

"Whoa!" York nearly jumped back in surprise, "D? What the hell are you doing here, what about Caro—"

There was the all too familiar sound of a safety being removed close to the back of his helmet. York swore, remembering his earlier random thought tangent on how Delta had often tried using reason against opponents: a trait York himself had learned as his partner to take full advantage of on several occasions.

"Caught on just a little too late, York." Carolina's voice almost had a chiding tone to it, though she took on a sharper edge when adding, "You might need to spend more time working on that."

He winced. Couldn't really argue with her there: "Noted."

"My apologies, York." Delta chimed in, seemingly sincere for all the good it did now that York had a gun pointed at the back of his skull, "It seemed a prudent way to speed things along."

"Yeah. It was a really great one." York glared at the green little cockbite, suddenly remembering how he could both like and get exasperated by his former A.I. partner at the same time.

Sighing, York held his hands up in the air to showcase that he wasn't about to try anything.

"Are you guys going to talk this time or just knock me out again?" He asked, only partially joking, "Because I really need to get insurance if that's how things will go down every time we meet from here on out."

Seriously. There was only so much a man's heart, and the rest of his inner organs, could take.

"So long as you don't try to get in my way this time, we're good." Carolina lowered her weapon marginally. It was no large comfort though: she could shoot him easily enough still or kick his ass before he could even blink all the same. They both knew it.

"Really." He glanced at the two of them skeptically as Delta flickered over to hover next to the shoulder of his new partner. York wasn't actually sure if the A.I. had been implanted in Carolina or was just making use of the storage compartment of her armor. It was hard to tell currently with what little info he had on their whole new arrangement.

Maybe this was just a dream? Maybe the tunnel had actually collapsed, knocked him out, and he was having a hallucination as he slowly suffocated. Although York was pretty sure he would have noticed at least something out of the ordinary beforehand if that was truly the case.

"We're not here under orders from anyone, York." The woman in cyan armor said quietly, "Not this time, at any rate."

He frowned, "But, the talks—"

"A very obvious distraction tactic, don't you agree?" His former A.I. partner spoke up.

"Easy enough to sneak in a few specialized mercenaries into the tunnels to look for something during them." The leader of the Freelancers muttered. York could imagine her green eyes narrowing in thought under her helmet.

"You aren't going along with this then? Freelancer isn't?" He frowned, genuinely confused.

"Not much left of Freelancer, York." She was smiling bitterly, he was sure of that from her tone, "You should know that."

"Carolina…" He wasn't sure what to say to that. He awkwardly reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but stopped himself just before doing so. With Carolina he was unsure if such a gesture would be appreciated or if it would result in him getting flipped onto his backside.

She cut to the chase then, clearly having decided it wasn't a good time for either of them to get overly personal: "Hargrove has been consolidating power from within the Council for years, and made a very big move just recently with it. I think it's a smart move to try to figure out just why."

There had to be more to it than that for Carolina to act as she was. York could tell. Still, he had the feeling if he asked directly she would push him away completely. At the moment, it was nice just having her around without getting his ass kicked for once.

He looked to Delta to see if his friend would offer him any kind of hint or clue as to what else was going on, but the A.I. pointedly looked to the ground to avoid meeting his gaze.

That green little cockbite!

York would have to just hope that maybe they would be willing to tell him more later. If Carolina didn't decide to knock him out cold again, that is.

He knew Carolina had never been the easy-to-trust type. Sadly, given everything that had happened in their past it seemed that the wall she put up between herself and everyone else was infinitely larger now.

"Whatever Hargrove's reasons are, no one living down here will come out the better for it." The former Freelancer surmised, deciding to not focus on what they weren't telling him and instead getting to the point as well.

"It is very likely to be less than beneficial to most living in Above Ground also." Delta spoke up quietly in his matter-of-fact tone.

"Right. The Council has been tightening its grip everywhere, huh?"

He'd seen the reports, of course. They all had. It was important to keep up to date with what Above Ground was doing.

"We're wasting time." Carolina was all business, as she always was whenever it came to missions. She hadn't been at the top of the leader board for nothing: "The ones we were tracking couldn't have gone far."

He perked up at what she said, quite curious himself now, "Who are they?"

"Mercenaries that Hargrove hired." She was starting to walk into the darkness of 32-A as if she knew exactly where she was going, "Wyoming is with them."

"W—Wyoming?"

He had attacked them when they had defected along with Tex. York remembered how his former teammate had still tried getting a knock-knock joke out during that time as if everything that had been going on was completely normal.

Wyoming had also apparently tried killing North and Washington a year ago.

Still, hearing that remark said from Carolina so dispassionately was surprising in a way. How long had she known about it then, if she wasn't acting that upset by his obvious outside activity from Freelancer?

She regarded York with a sideways glance for a moment as if unsure of how to process his reaction before moving on, "Like I said, there's not much left of Freelancer anymore."

He really couldn't argue with her there, and he knew it wouldn't be a good idea to comment on the almost pained way she had said that remark.

So, York did the only thing he could think to do then: he followed her, tripping and stumbling all the way over bits of rock and metal that seemed specifically to be put in his path to make him look completely ridiculous until he was finally able to match her stride.

"Mind if I tag along then, since our goals seem the same right now?"

She glanced over at him again and said nothing. He was somewhat afraid that she would reject him completely once more. Maybe slam him into the wall or something to keep him from following her.

Instead, when she did speak up at last after a few tense moments of silence, she almost sounded amused, "Sure. For as long as you can keep up, that is."

Not anything permanent, but it was a start. He grinned, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at her joke.

"My stamina has always been pretty good, you know." York joked back, the innuendo completely intended for laughs.

He could almost picture her rolling her eyes, and he wondered if maybe another joke might be appropriate too.

Delta flickered back into existence close by both of them, "Actually, York, according to all of your physical examination reports you were always ranked tenth in stamina while Agent Carolina—"

Leave it to Delta to still not have developed a sense of humor.

He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation, "D, I've really missed you. But, if you don't shut up right now, I am going to find a way to mute you."

York knew this situation it was only temporary at best. He knew that he'd have to bring up some of the really tough and most likely painful questions that were floating through his head right now before this whole thing was over. Despite knowing that though and not being sure what the fuck they would find out Hargrove was after down here, for one brief moment York felt almost downright elated.

He hadn't felt that way in a good long while.

Hell, York couldn't even stop the dopey grin from forming on his face as Delta started explaining just how his joking threat of silencing the A.I. would be utterly impossible to accomplish.

---

Author's Notes: Dang, sorry for the longer wait! This chapter became seriously longer than I thought it would be, so I figured I would just split it into parts whenever it seemed like it was getting to have a lot of sections in it.

This chapter ended up being more set-up than I thought it would be as it turned out I had more of that left to do than I apparently thought, and we now have a Kimball perspective to boot (mainly because she will be getting pretty prominent in future portions of the story!). Hopefully I did her character justice! Btw, you can thank my sister for the North and her interaction: she thought it would be neat if they became friends in the fic, and once she said that I got an idea so I decided to start putting in friendship moments for the two of them (orz, Kimball probably could use a friend XD).

Felt kind of weird to have a chapter where there weren't any Grif or Simmons POV sections (Grif in particular since he's kind of my main character! :D), but no worries! There will be lots of Grimmons and other pairings in the chapters to come and Grif is back to more or less main character status in the next chapter! :D

You'll probably be getting one or more chapters somewhat quickly following this one since I am just dividing a huge humongous story section into smaller portions. :D

I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter at least, and stay tuned for the next part! :D Thank you very much for reading. :)