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.}

14. Chapter 14

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 Fourteen:

Dexter Grif found that there were a lot of things on his mind as he walked through the crowded pathways of Level Four with Donut, Tucker, Lopez, and Caboose to their intended destination.

First and foremost? Just how fucking smart of a decision this actually was to begin with.

Granted, these particular Above Ground guys were far from harmful unless put in really crappy situations like what had happened last year, so he wasn't overly concerned with that. Actually, he found that he genuinely trusted them given what had happened with that Locus douche during the siege. But, who knows?

Trusting specific individuals didn't necessarily mean other Above Grounders who might be around the place weren't going to be dicks all the same. If they were infiltrating other areas of the Slums then just Level One during these "peace talks" they'd probably be a lot less likely to make it obvious they were doing it.

Grif knew that was even one of the main reasons why Tucker had thought it best to leave Junior back at the base for the time being: security had been heightened there ever since they'd had to move to the new location. It had probably even tripled since all of the drama and tenseness over the talks had begun.

If something were to happen in either the mining tunnels or the Slums proper, Junior was far better protected there than anywhere else. Added to that was the fact that Junior could defend himself pretty well even at his young age. Plus, his current babysitter was a fucking former Freelancer and one of his dad's teammates was a giant killer assault droid.

Yeah, odds were pretty good that the alien kid was going to be just fine.

Hell, Grif was more than a little grateful during this whole incident that Kai had decided to join the Resistance since that also meant she would be staying more or less on base for the time being. Rare occasion, that, and he sincerely doubted the opinion would last long whenever firefights and the like started up again.

But, he also knew that there was most likely going to be a lull in hostile activity in general during the "peace talks." At least up until those Council assholes found whatever it was they were looking for and they were out of harm's way.

The Council had made such a big fucking show of the whole thing, to the point that it was very unlikely they'd want to ruin it at the moment. After all, they had no qualms before about mass murdering Slums civilians if it served an agenda for them. They certainly weren't of the mindset of holding back against the Resistance whenever it came to altercations with them normally either.

Besides, Kimball had given her consent for the outing. It was probably always best to stay prudent and be cautious, but Grif wasn't exactly one to pass up the opportunity to at least try to relax if he could. In his opinion, the occasions when commanding officers gave permission for a night of relaxation and drinking were way too few and far between.

Plus, there was a fifty-fifty chance that Simmons would be there.

The red-haired Above Grounder had been reluctant about the whole thing, questioning how logical a party was for similar reasoning as Grif had listed in his earlier thoughts (though he did it better because he wasn't, you know, a nerd who worried too much about everything to begin with).

That hesitancy mixed with the fact that Grif knew his friend wasn't very comfortable in forced social interactions made the potential sight of Simmons there something he really did not want to pass up.

After all, a party was pretty well above Simmons' comfort level.

He imagined it would be an amusing experience and rife with potential teasing moments. In Grif's eyes, teasing moments always seemed to be good ways to strengthen bonds: he did it all the time with Tucker and Kai, after all!

Hell, he was fairly certain that it was largely thanks to the mutual teasing both he and Simmons used to break the ice early on in their friendship that it had become as surprisingly strong as it had.

Besides, on a slightly less mischievous note that delved far more into personal matters he didn't really want to dwell on all that much, who knew how long these talks would be going on for anyways? Grif wanted to spend as much time with Simmons as he could before things had to go back to usual.

Hopefully, for all concerned, this time the parting wouldn't be nearly as dramatic.

His other major worry about the party was largely that his pink-armored and always-far-too-cheerful teammate Franklin Delano Donut was its main mastermind.

That wasn't to say that Donut didn't know how to pull off pretty impressive get-togethers, even if Grif attempted to dismiss them as "lame" if only to curb some of his younger teammate's enthusiasm. Seriously, so much perky so early in the morning when not under the influence of caffeine and copious amounts of sugar was all sorts of disturbing in his book!

The events his teammate planned were usually quite entertaining and lively in their own ways even if it wasn't always Grif's personal kind of party. Although, Donut was a great cook and had learned to let his orange-armored teammate wander away to sleep off the large amounts of food he'd eaten with a smile after a couple hours had passed. Grif always counted those particular moments as highlights which, arguably, fit more for his "kind of party."

So, in the end, he usually did always enjoy himself at Donut's parties and now he was kind of bummed Donut wouldn't be cooking this time around.

The Resistance fighter supposed that so long as "Officer Hot Pants" didn't make an appearance at any point whatsoever during this outing it wouldn't be too bad.

It could possibly be pleasant even, once Donut decided to just let everyone do whatever they wanted after he had gone through the list of fun party activities he seemed to carry with him everywhere.

Though the club's name did have Grif a little worried. Leave it to his baby sister to apparently frequent a bar called the "Randy Offering."

He supposed it was meant to be clever, but honestly? He was surprised it wasn't the place where the orgy had happened.

Naturally, Tucker had snickered like a little kid when he heard the name. Lopez muttered something sarcastically in Spanish while Donut quipped about another place he had heard about called "Tops and Bottoms."

So, clearly, the point of the name had been lost on the younger soldier and Grif once again really wasn't sure how to process that apparently Kai had been to that particular bar too.

He could picture in his head how horribly red Simmons' face had looked when he had heard the name from Kai. Grif had to fight the urge to smile slightly at the memory, though he kind of failed at it as the corners of his mouth curved slightly upwards all the same.

The action was not at all lost on his childhood friend, though.

"Are you really that eager to see your husband again?" Tucker joked, the grin on his face practically a mile wide, "Dude, your sister is right. The two of you should just make it fucking official."

"Shut up, Tucker." He felt his face get slightly warm, as it usually always did nowadays whenever Tucker or Kai's comments went in that direction.

"Just saying. You two are already pretty domestic."

He rolled his eyes, "You do realize the second you start trying to flirt with someone I am going to come over and say something horribly embarrassing about you, right?"

His friend snorted, "Please, as if you could possibly ruin my chances with the ladies."

Grif was oh-so-tempted to point out to Tucker that his "chances" with the ladies were pretty much always next to nil, even without Grif saying or doing anything to wreck them.

No sooner would Tucker utter a way-too-corny pickup line than said ladies in question would either kick him in the groin, punch him in the face, or poor a drink on top of his head—or any combination thereof. But, he figured maybe it was better for his friend to not be reminded of that just yet.

It would certainly prove more entertaining for himself in the long run, if nothing else.

Level Four wasn't as spacious or as state-of-the-art as Level One was, but it was still well and above the very often extremely claustrophobic and crowded spaces of Low Town.

There were more businesses here in general, and a bit more of a sense of pride was shown in the upkeep of the streets and public spaces where those businesses happened to housed. Made sense, in a way, given how shops and restaurants here had to charge more for their products due to increased rent and taxes.

Make the establishments and spaces presentable to get people to think that your products and services were worth that extra bit more you were charging for them. Sure, the business owners a few levels below were selling close to the same thing at a cheaper price, but they were in slightly dingier stores!

Grif had made quite a few delivery rounds for people living here before he had joined the Resistance. It had also always been one of Kai's favorite levels to window-shop in, so he was rather familiar with the area.

Even still, he would have probably had an incredibly hard time finding his way through the maze of smaller side-streets and alleyways to get to their destination.

Donut and Tucker, both lifelong Slums residents as well, seemed to also have a hard time keeping track of where exactly they were going. Both would consult the map that Kai had drown out on a coaster in confusion every so often.

"Sabes que tengo un sistema incorporado en la unidad de navegación, ¿verdad? Es una de las pocas cosas útiles al hombre viejo loco me dio." {"You know I have a built-in navigation unit, right? It's one of the few useful things the crazy old man gave me."}

Apparently even Lopez decided to comment on the situation after their tenth such stop to look at the "map." Though what the robot said was anyone's guess, save maybe Donut.

"I agree, Lopez, it is a great night for a walk!" Donut said cheerily, before frowning and tilting the coaster to the side as if that would somehow magically help make him understand its scribbled-down contents better, "Though I do wish we had an easier time of knowing where we were going."

"Oh, joder." {Oh, for fuck's sake."}

The robot was sighing and shaking his head.

"Walking is great." Caboose chimed in.

He didn't really have as much knowledge of the Slums given how he wasn't born there and spent most of his time at the base, so Caboose had been rather quiet during their previous exchange: "So is running. And standing. And sitting." He nodded cheerfully, "Napping is the best though."

"I'm with you there, buddy." For once, something Caboose said actually made a Hell of a lot of sense to Grif.

"A veces me gustaría tener un modo de espera. Sería muy útil para momentos como este." {"Sometimes I wish I had a sleep mode. It would come in handy for moments like this."}

Eventually though, as they followed Donut's interpretation of the instructions, the alleyways became dingier and dingier. It seemed that the more "reputable" shops were the ones on the main streets apparently, as everywhere else in Level Four appeared to be more or less the same as any other place in the Slums.

It was most likely simply out of luck more than anything else that they finally came to the bar.

The building was a relatively large one wedged between two other businesses that looked to be closed and boarded up for the night. It seemed plain and unobtrusive on the outside, save for the opaque shade of the windows to keep prying eyes from seeing anything going on within. It was only polite to go in and purchase a drink first, after all.

The music blasting through the walls to the path outside was of the loud techno-rave variety all clubs seemed to like exploding eardrums with. No wonder it was situated in an area where no residential places were present: it was the only way to avoid noise complaints unless you actually chose to turn the sound down. What self-respecting bar would do that?

The only indication that told them they were in the right place was the smallish sign hanging above the door. Beyond the people stumbling around as if they'd already been having a good time, of course. The sign was a holographic one meant to resemble a classic neon light one from the far past of Old Earth: retro never went out of style.

It would flash "Randy" in green lettering, then "Offering" in blue, and following that in yellow…

Grif swore under his breath, "Goddamn it, Kai!"

"Uh, well, isn't that artistic of them?!" Donut marveled, always one to try to put a positive spin on things if he could.

"Tucker, it looks like they are doing one of those things from those clips you have that you told me not to watch! Or mention." Caboose exclaimed at the sight of the male and female figures that flashed by in a very compromising position for only two seconds.

Tucker looked amused, raising an eyebrow at the display, "Guess we know what caught Kai's eye about this place, huh?" His grin widened, "Looks fun."

"¿No sería más antihigiénico que ver que en un lugar que sirve bebidas?" {"Wouldn't it be unhygienic to do that in a place that serves beverages?"}

Yeah, Grif was definitely going to have a talk with his sister about her favorite hangout spots after this.

The door opened wide just then and a scowling Leonard Church glared at the group with obvious annoyance, "Took you guys fucking long enough!" He growled out, not even bothering to hide the fact that his expression clearly stated that he would probably prefer being anywhere but there, "It would be pretty pathetic if you guys got lost when you're from here."

"Hey, Church!" Caboose waved happily at his "friend" while the Above Grounder chose to ignore him.

"Oh, fuck off, Church." Tucker was already heading inside, the others following after him, "We were just admiring the sign."

"Yeah, this is a fucking classy establishment you have here." Church remarked sarcastically, "The puke in the bathroom is a nice touch too."

"They don't have cesspools in Above Ground?" Grif couldn't help but bite back.

He shrugged, "Probably. I've just never been dragged to one of them before."

"Can't imagine why. Who wouldn't want to have you around?" Tucker quipped, "You're the real life of the party."

Church gave him the finger, "Shove it."

"Yep. Really big mystery why you're never invited anywhere." Tucker smirked, his remark causing the Above Grounder to roll his eyes.

The interior of the club and bar was even larger than the outside would have one believe. Grif wouldn't have been surprised if it had been some kind of warehouse earlier on during the Slums' history as a mining colony, now completely refurnished for entertainment needs.

There was a large bar in the back of the warehouse-like area, and stools and tables lined the walls everywhere. Open space was in the middle of the bar for mingling, and a few pool tables and games of chance were scattered here and there. He even spotted a derelict antique pinball machine.

Music was blasting into the building from speakers built into the walls every few meters from one another, which helped increase the sound intensity quite a lot.

The other members of Church's team had been hanging nearby the entrance along with their designated leader, evidently looking out for the Resistance members through the windows. Getting a closer look, Grif noted that there were two new faces amongst them as well.

A woman with dark skin and a cheerful look in her eyes regarded them all in a way that reminded Grif of Sarge somehow whenever he was tinkering with Lopez, "Are these your friends from the Resistance?" She asked.

Church nodded, "I guess you can call them that."

"Aw, thanks for the love!" Tucker replied sarcastically, turning his attention completely to the female in their midst, "And you must be tired from always running through my mind."

Church flashed a "Are you fucking kidding me?" look over at Grif, who nodded sadly in response.

"That's cute! If you ever get shot, I'll stitch you up even if you're on the other side!" She grinned, "Just ask for Doctor Grey."

Her way too gleeful-sounding response at the prospect of him getting shot seemed to have Tucker backing off pretty quickly, a very much freaked out look on his face.

The blond-haired man that had been standing nearby sighed and shook his head in an exasperated fashion at the interaction, "Real smooth there, Tucker."

Grif's friend blinked at the voice, taking in the man's appearance. When the Above Grounder raised an eyebrow at Tucker in almost mild amusement at his trying to figure out who he was, apparently the identity of the stranger clicked in Tucker's mind.

"No fucking way! Washington?" He said in obvious disbelief, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Funny, I asked him the same damn thing." Church muttered, glaring at the blond-haired man as if he was an unwelcome intruder.

Judging by the defunct province name, Grif was guessing Washington was a Freelancer, though he had no fucking clue how he and Tucker knew one another.

Washington glared back at Church for only a second before regarding Tucker again, apparently not quite sure what to make of the fact that the Resistance fighter was still gaping at him in shock, "It's not exactly like this is my idea of a fun night either. Believe me." His gray gaze had fallen over the Above Grounders following that comment, which seemed to annoy Church even more.

"We don't need a goddamned babysitter!"

"That remains to be seen." His tone was clipped and even in his response.

"Hey, now! Let's not get into any fights, okay?" The glasses-wearing Doc interjected quickly, raising his hands in what was probably meant to be a pacifying gesture, "Let's all just take deep, calming breaths."

"Yeah, there's more than enough time to get hot and bothered later on!" Donut added in agreement.

Washington sighed then, caught off-guard by Donut's odd phrasing, "I don't…think you meant it that way."

"One can never tell with him." Tucker interjected, "Best to just ignore it."

The Freelancer looked doubtful, but before he could say anything else in response Caboose was excitedly talking to both him and Church about what he'd done over the week. It was as if in Caboose's head before earlier that day it hadn't technically been a year since they'd last seen each other.

So, it looked like Caboose knew Washington too. Interesting. Grif would have to pry Tucker for details later, since it was only fair given all the shit his friend put him through about Simmons.

Lopez and Sheila had begun their own discussion too, and Tucker was trying to fill in some of the gaps of Caboose's memory with whatever had actually fucking happened that his teammate wasn't getting right in his recollection.

Doctor Grey turned to Doc and Donut then, just as the two had been starting to talk about whatever plans it was they had come up with earlier for the "party" since, at the moment, it just seemed like it was going to be one big get-together in a public place.

"Hey, I brought a black-light with me! Want to see what's decorating every centimeter of this place?" She asked hopefully, an eager look in her eyes at the prospect.

"Oh, sounds fun!" Clearly Donut's definition of "fun" was way different from Grif's was as he exclaimed: "I wanted to try to have a guessing game tonight!"

"It should be pretty informative." Doc seemed to be in agreement.

"I was sure to bring enough sterilized wipes for everyone!" The doctor added far too cheerily as the three disappeared into the crowd for the start of their "adventure."

Which left Grif with a clearly very awkward and obviously out of his element Simmons, if the Above Grounder's very visible fidgeting was any indication.

He smirked and couldn't help but joke a little, "I can't believe you actually came."

Simmons, to his credit, managed to skew his slightly blushing face into a scowl, "O-of course I came, fat-ass! Everyone else did."

"Peer pressure is a bad thing to give in to, Simmons." Grif teased, waving a finger in a chiding fashion as he did so, "Remind me to get you the pamphlet from Donut."

The redhead relaxed slightly as they fell into their usual rapport, a faint smile crossing over his features as he joked back: "No need. Doc has the same one most likely."

They stood there for a few moments in companionable silence, though there was one question Grif just had to ask.

"You didn't happen to catch that sign outside, did you?"

He grinned. Simmons' suddenly brightly red face was all of the confirmation he needed.

---

Bitters was still all sorts of confused as to why the crazy old man, generally considered more or less the second in command of the Resistance, wanted to talk to him out of all of the lieutenants.

Perhaps it was just for an individual talk Sarge planned to have with all of the newer recruits eventually to get to know them on a one-on-one basis. Maybe he was only starting with Bitters due to alphabetical order. Which caused the lieutenant to briefly wonder again what Volleyball's actual name could be, but he shrugged the thought off.

After all, considering how far-from-ecstatic Sarge had been with his performance earlier during training, the old man might just want to ream him out some more over it.

Or possibly he'd just shoot Bitters with the shotgun he seemed to have an unhealthy attachment to, afterwards figuring out where to dump the body. The "private conversation" angle could just be a convenient way for there to not to be any witnesses.

Thinking of that theory, it did not bode well in Bitters' mind when he found the red-armored sergeant in one of the larger outlying tunnels of the base sitting on a chair looking over his shotgun. The chair also happened to be right next to fucking Freckles of all things!

The older soldier was mumbling something to himself as Bitters approached, not even bothering to look up from his weapon.

When he was within hearing range, it sounded like Sarge was muttering repetitions of phrases such as "Dang-na-bit!" and "Woulda been better just to have given 'em a swift kick in the ass after all!" The words indicated that the older soldier was grumbling more about the current peace talk situation than actually Bitters himself.

Small favors, he supposed.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Bitters asked. He tried to sound as nonchalant as he usually did, though that was admittedly harder to do when a trigger-happy sergeant with a personal vendetta against the color orange and a giant assault droid who tended to react to most things with a spray of bullets were directly right in front of you.

Thinking of Captain Grif's earlier advice to tell Sarge to fuck off if ordered to do something insane, the lieutenant wondered if doing something like that would even remotely go over well in this particular case.

Eyeing Freckles and the shotgun, Bitters assumed it was probably best in the long run to try to avoid figuring that out.

Sarge actually jumped a little in his seat at his question, though he quickly covered it up: "Didn't see you there, Bitters."

Clearly something had been on his mind then, given how long the lieutenant had been standing there debating things in his head before even speaking up.

"You did request that I see you after dinner, sir." Bitters pointed out.

"I just figured you woulda slacked off for a little while longer. Maybe try to catch a few Z's." The old man grimaced at the prospect, "It's what a certain lazy orange dirt bag I know would do."

Maybe Bitters should have been upset at the apparent thought that he'd be purposely late, but it wasn't like the young man could blame Sarge for thinking that given his initial earlier actions during training. Truthfully, sometimes slacking off when you could get away with it was extremely enjoyable.

But, after today, he'd learned slacking off around Sarge wasn't too much fun in the long run considering his body still fucking hurt from all of the drills and going through that fucking obstacle course! Plus, he figured it was better to be prepared for whatever was going to be coming up in the future anyways. They all had, really.

Hell, even Palomo had done a pretty good job today. Bitters still wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact that his friend had apparently developed fantastic aim without anyone realizing it.

"Are you just going to insult me or is there a point to this? Sir." He couldn't help but be a bit of a smartass in response though: old habits die hard.

"Sit down, Dye Job."

Sarge wasn't one to pass up a comeback to what he apparently considered "sass" either. Bitters could respect that about him in a begrudging sort of way.

He took a seat in the rickety chair that the older man indicated directly across from Sarge and Freckles, trying to quell the thoughts he had of this setup feeling akin to sitting before a firing squad.

He waited for the man in red to say something.

And waited some more.

It definitely seemed as if Sarge wanted to say something given the grimace slowly transforming his features, but he seemed to be having some sort of inner debate on just how to do it.

"Sir…?" Bitters prompted, hoping to get the ball rolling if only for the chance to get this whole weird, disconcerting-as-fuck thing over with.

"A friend of mine once told me to try talking to my subordinates. Danged hippie if you ask me, but I suppose it wasn't all bad advice." Sarge made a face and thought about it a bit more before adding, "In small doses. As limited as possible."

He then sighed, shaking his head, "I heard he died a while ago, the poor blue bastard."

Bitters glanced at the ground, really not quite sure where this whole thing was going.

"You know, Bitters, I really didn't like you when I first met you." The older man suddenly said without any preamble, in the same type of conversational tone one might use to discuss the weather.

"I…got that, sir." He mumbled out awkwardly.

Yeah, he supposed he could even understand why too. In hindsight, his earlier actions that day probably had translated to being something of a "smartass" given how eccentric and odd a lot of Sarge's training methods were. Not exactly the best kind of first impression for a guy who seemed to value some measure of protocol in his interactions with the soldiers under his command if nothing else.

"Downright thought I hated you, in fact." Sarge continued, nodding slightly at the recollection, "And it wasn't just because of the orange. Your whole attitude had me wanting to call you 'Grif' and cry to the heavens as to why they would test a good man's patience so."

The older man carried on, apparently on something of a tangent now, "With you and his sister there, I seriously wanted to have a shot of whiskey. Maybe scotch even. Hell, a scotch-whiskey-bourbon combo shot straight into my veins might have at least made those early hours somewhat tolerable."

Sarge smiled grimly then, "Scary thing is, dirt-bag's sister probably would have been the best bet for that."

Crazily enough, that was more than likely true.

"Er…" Bitters blinked, seriously not sure how to respond to any of this conversation, "I'm…sorry, I guess?"

"You're damn right you're sorry!" Sarge shot back quickly, fire in his brown eyes, "You were a sorrier excuse for a soldier than I've ever seen in those first training exercises! Even sorrier than Grif had been, or your friend who nearly drowned himself."

Bitters shut up then, biting down hard on a reply that was sure to have probably gotten him into a hell of a lot of trouble. He hadn't thought he was that bad, all things considered. He certainly couldn't say he'd excelled in any of the exercises as well as Kaikaina had during the obstacle course and the scavenger hunt, but he was a better shot than her at least. Although, ironically, Palomo of all people had ended up doing the best on that particular front.

Sarge sighed, looking off contemplatively into the distance past Bitters' head, "But you're not so sorry that you can't improve." He added, as if to cushion the pretty brutal blow he had dealt moments earlier.

"Sir?" The younger soldier was surprised by the admission, given Sarge's previous tone.

"That damn Grif is the same way in a lot of respects. He has potential all right and sure as Hell can get things done if he's motivated. Usually with food. But, he tends to waste it more often than not and constantly undermines authority instead of just doing what he's told." Sarge sighed again, "A real test of patience. If he actually listened for once, maybe I could figure out other ways to use him in battle than just as a walking target practice, but he can't even do that right."

He looked over at Bitters then and grinned: "You know, I actually painted 'Shoot me!' on the back of his armor once. 'Course, he's so round he couldn't even tell." His face darkened for a moment, "Pretty-in-Pink made me take it off though. Said it wasn't 'nice' and that I had the Holo-Grifs for that."

Sarge bounced back with a smile quickly enough, "But dang it if it wasn't fun seeing that for a while! He never did figure out why I was giggling like a schoolgirl whenever I told him to go somewhere first." He laughed loudly then, "Woulda been near perfect if I had filmed the time he got in front of Freckles here."

"CONFLICTING ORDERS ARE HARD TO PROCESS." The robot's booming voice came from behind them, his massive body angled to stare downwards at the two comparatively tiny people below him.

"Just like Donut and Kimball: danged robot had to rain on my parade." The older soldier grumbled, the smile on his face turning rather wistful.

As fascinating as the disturbed trip down prank memory lane was, Bitters shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was really not sure he wanted to know what this particular train of thought meant for him. His brain was already heading towards the worst case scenario of Sarge deciding to paint a bull's eye or something on his back and have the other new recruits or even Freckles chase him for "exercise."

"His sister's the same way. I sure as hell wasn't expecting her scouting abilities to be as good as they were."

No one had, truthfully. Perhaps there was something to be said for how she and Captain Grif had lived on their own for a large portion of their lives.

"Her attitude's frustrating as all hell to deal with, but I can work through it if she's willing to train and follow orders from time-to-time." He frowned, "Same with Grif. He's insufferable to be around and even look at, and every day is an epic struggle of patience. But, when he actually does on rare instances follow orders, he gets results."

Since praising his subordinate so much seemed to be something the older man wasn't very comfortable with, he subsequently added, "Still a lazy dirt-bag more often than not though."

Bitters waited silently then, still not sure what a rant on the Grif siblings really had to do with him.

"You're sort of the same way, Bitters." Sarge finally let out, eyes still focused on a distant spot behind the lieutenant's head, "The potential's there, but it takes a horribly long time for you to embrace it."

He glanced over at Bitters then, as if to see if he would argue the point or not before continuing, "Sure, you complained as all get out when I made you do those drills as punishment. But you did them, which is actually one up from a certain orange blob I know."

"Thank you, sir?" He wasn't quite sure if that was supposed to be actual praise or more of an insult given how it had been worded.

"You actually went ahead with doing the obstacle course properly on your own again without complaining, even though you'd bitched to Palomo and Matthews about it before. Managed to do all right on it too." Sarge was looking at him keenly then.

Bitters was, truthfully, a bit surprised Sarge was lucid enough to actually remember all of that. Maybe there was more to the old man than he thought.

"What changed in the thirty minutes before the group went through it again to get you so pumped up, son?"

This was admittedly not the direction he had expected the conversation to go in when it had first started. The young man frowned, thinking.

The most obvious motivating factor had been the news that the peace talks had stalled, though Sarge more than likely knew that himself.

But it had been more than just that for Bitters. True, everything was tense at the base as a result of the whole fiasco forced upon them. But it was more the change in atmosphere surrounding the other recruits, surrounding himself even, to the news that had most motivated him.

He had known Palomo since he was a young kid. The two had grown up together in Level Three. Palomo, being Palomo, had been an easy target for bullies. Bitters hadn't really been able to just stand by as Palomo got beat up, even if his oddly cheerful neighbor tended to get on his nerves more often than not.

The fact that the younger boy had lived in a home situation that wasn't so great as well had only solidified their odd bond, since it meant that Palomo had ingratiated himself to Bitters' own family over the years. It had gotten to the point where he'd pretty much become just as much of a brother to Bitters' smaller siblings as Bitters was.

The day of the massacre, his parents had finally decided to take his family up to Level One for a surprise holiday since they had been busy with work for so long. He didn't like thinking on it too much.

He had lost his family then and Bitters found he couldn't wait until he had reached the age when he was allowed to join the Resistance. Prepping for it had been a way to focus his anger, grief, and frustration: to temper the sudden desire he had to just not do anything in general anymore.

Bitters honestly hadn't expected his dumbass idiot childhood friend to join with him, grinning absentmindedly as he made his bizarre observations.

At first, he'd actually been pissed with Palomo's decision. But, Palomo was surprisingly stubborn, staying on with the Resistance even after what happened to his teammates Rogers and Cunningham.

He knew Palomo and Cunningham had been especially close friends in particular, had even noticed that sometimes when talking about his teammates even now Palomo would slip-up and call Cunningham "Jason" instead of using his last name as a means to distance himself from what had happened.

Palomo would then try to act like he hadn't afterwards with a reassuring grin and an even dumber-than-usual comment. It was as if he was afraid Bitters would again start up the argument about him leaving the Resistance if he showed too much of his own pain.

Bitters didn't honestly know much about Palomo's roommate's past at all. Smith, while quick to praise their superiors and toss in a thoughtful or helpful gesture when he could, clammed up in regards to his own past more often than not.

He knew Smith was older than the rest of them by several years, and that his views on "leadership" were eccentric. Bitters also knew that he had a wife, and that his expression turned sadly nostalgic on the rare instances when he would talk about her. He knew enough from all of those clues and what wasn't said that Smith's reason for joining the Resistance had something to do with her.

Bitters never pried though, as he knew how that felt given when people used to ask about his family. He still wasn't ready to talk about them yet, not really.

Palomo, in an oddly wise decision for him, had long since given up on getting Bitters to talk about what had happened. Deciding instead that it would be best to wait for whenever his friend would be ready to talk.

Jensen he knew a little bit more about. After all, the girl was very much awkward and tended to ramble on if she got nervous. One time, during a group outing, she mentioned in passing that her father had been a Resistance member. During another outing, she'd let it slip that they had never really connected despite being their only living relatives. During a third one, she had stated that her father had been killed in a skirmish a year ago with Above Ground forces in the tunnels.

She had joined shortly afterwards, in what she felt was a childish attempt to somehow posthumously gain better understanding of a parental figure she'd always been distant from and to hopefully find her own purpose through doing so. Whether or not she'd fudged her age in order to join the Resistance was something everyone debated amongst themselves given her appearance, but no one dared to ask her.

As for Volleyball, he knew next to nothing about her past or why she had joined. The blonde acted like an open book in a lot of respects. She was always smiling and was very friendly, but the only people amidst their ranks who probably even knew her story were most likely Jensen or possibly Kaikaina—and neither of them were talking on it. It seemed as if she truly believed in the Resistance cause, whatever her unknown personal motivations were.

Kaikaina, well, her reason for joining was obvious and she made no secret about it: she had joined to keep an eye on her older brother, the only family she had left. The two were surprisingly close despite how loud their arguments and teasing moments were.

Admittedly, Bitters didn't know as much about Matthews' past as he'd like. Then again, it wasn't like Bitters had gone out of his way to disclose personal information with his roommate either so that was pretty fair. His friend was reserved and not at all comfortable with talking about his personal life.

A conversation about how he and Palomo had been neighbors and something of pseudo-siblings to one another on Level Three had garnered him the information that Matthews was from one of the lower levels of the Slums. Bitters knew that his living space there had probably been small as fuck too as Matthews had once commented in a disbelieving voice over how big their shared room on base was.

Jensen's reveal about her father's death and the subsequent mixture of pain and regret she had over having accidentally blurted it out had gotten a very obvious and sympathetic reaction from the young man as well. It made Bitters suspect that Matthews had lost family as well somewhere down the line.

As curious as he was to ask Matthews about his past, just as he was with Smith and the others, he never felt comfortable doing so. Some conversations he knew could only happen if both sides were ready for them and, in all honesty, he wasn't ready for his own side of that particular one yet.

They were an odd, mix-matched group that all had their own personal reasons for being there.

Still, they were together and that had become an oddly important aspect of Bitters' life recently without him having even realized it: Palomo's weird cheerful glee over orders that made Bitters cringe; Smith's praise of insane orders and suggestions from Sarge or Captain Caboose; Jensen's thoughts on motors even though he personally could really care less about that topic so long as a vehicle actually fucking worked; Volleyball's competitive nature that made his eyes roll; Kaikaina's comments you had to often double-take on to make sure you'd actually heard them correctly; Matthews' tendency to suck up to authority figures who probably didn't deserve it most of the time.

Yeah, sometimes his teammates annoyed the Hell out of him and he really didn't want to be bothered with their shenanigans. But, they were his teammates and his friends now too, oddly enough. A large part of him didn't want to lose that. He'd lost enough already. Bitters sometimes wondered if the others felt similarly too.

So, as a result of when things had turned even more tense and serious after the peace talk stall news, he supposed he had become a little more determined and motivated.

After all, Bitters didn't want to lose anyone else, especially not his teammates. Least of all, he certainly didn't want something bad to happen due to his own actions.

Still, the lieutenant didn't have the energy or drive to say all of that to the older soldier with a shotgun sitting across from him. Bitters wasn't sure he could explain it too greatly out loud anyways.

So, he shrugged nonchalantly instead: "No idea, sir. I guess things just changed."

Sarge raised an eyebrow with a disbelieving look on his weathered face that seemed to clearly say "Bullshit!" just as loudly as if he'd actually said the words out right himself.

"You don't say, huh?"

Even the tone of Sarge's voice when he asked that question had Bitters wondering if maybe what he'd been thinking before had been pretty fucking apparent on his face without him having realized it.

"I guess so." He fidgeted slightly, not sure all of the "feelings" the last few seconds had been drudging up inside of him were ones that he necessarily wanted to think too keenly on, "Can I go now, sir, or is there something else?"

Please let this whole fucking thing be over with!

Sarge sat there for a few more uncomfortable minutes staring at him before waving a hand in the air dismissively, "Yeah, Dye Job, you can go."

The sigh Bitters let out was almost palpable as he stood up to leave, not quite sure as to what this whole conversation had been about.

"LIEUTENANT BITTERS, BE SURE TO PROPERLY LEAVE THE PRESENCE OF YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER." Freckles' booming voice let out, head swiveling in his direction even more, "OR RISK INSUBORDINATION CHARGES." To which he added for clarification, "THOSE CAN BE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH."

Shit, even Freckles was giving him advice now!

He paled at the command, gulping and saluting very quickly, "R—right! Sir."

Sarge grinned, chuckling somewhat, "He can be my kind of walking death machine sometimes."

Well, that figures.

"Oh, and Bitters?" Sarge spoke up just before the younger soldier had taken his first few steps away.

Bitters paused, wondering if maybe the old guy was going to shoot at his feet for good measure just for laughs now that Freckles had unnerved him even more. He did seem to have an odd sense of humor in that regard.

"Your teammates did a pretty decent job at training today. You did too, once you finally got your act together."

"Th—thank you, sir." He nodded, wondering if he needed to salute again to sate Freckles' views on proper etiquette for leaving.

"I'm expecting you to keep that up next time." Sarge told him, narrowing his eyes, "Don't let your innate orange-ness ruin your team's dynamic or slow you down again!"

"I'll…try not to, sir."

"And pick a dang hair color and stick with it!" He made a face, apparently in the mood to dispense all sorts of advice today, "This isn't a rave or some kind of freaky love fest."

Well, it really wouldn't have been a proper conversation with Sarge if it didn't end with insults about his hair or the trim of his armor.

"Anything else, sir?" Bitters let out a tired sigh.

"Yeah, don't tell Grif any of the things I told you today. Lord knows why he has such an inflated ego as it is despite being him. I really don't want to add any fuel to that misguided fire." His eyes narrowed again, menacingly, "Blab about it and I will tell Freckles here it is open season on anything orange and lazy, you got it?"

Freckles tilted his head slightly at the mention of his name in the conversation. Bitters swallowed, having the feeling the machine really wouldn't hesitate if given the order.

"I will keep that in mind, sir." He assured Sarge. He wasn't really sure that insults combined with slight praise was something that needed to be hidden, but he didn't exactly understand the odd intricacies of the relationship between Sarge and Captain Grif.

"Good." Sarge nodded once more, "Dismissed."

Bitters left pretty quickly then after remembering to salute once more in front of Freckles, exiting the tunnel into a corridor that would eventually lead him back to the innermost areas of the base. He paused then to let out a quiet sigh of relief, glad that the whole awkward encounter was over with.

Had that whole thing been what Sarge considered a pep talk? It had certainly gotten Bitters thinking of things. Albeit in a very odd, round-about kind of way.

Then again, that kind of seemed to be Sarge's style in general. So, maybe…

There was movement to his right that cut off the lieutenant's thoughts.

He turned to face a rather squeamish-looking Matthews nervously trying to make himself appear as small as possible and failing miserably. Seriously, his trim was bright yellow and he was standing in empty space! Not exactly the best stealth ploy Bitters had ever seen.

His teammate's face turned a bright shade of red when he realized Bitters was staring at him incredulously, but he somehow managed to quickly blurt out: "H—how'd the talk with Sarge go?"

"Weird, but not as bad as I thought it would be." Bitters admitted, "Strange as all fuck though."

When Matthews said nothing following that and was still looking oddly embarrassed, he raised an eyebrow at his friend, "What? Did you want to have one too?"

Well, that figures. Matthews was a kiss-ass.

The blush deepened on the young man's face as he shook his head emphatically in response, "I—I mean, yeah, I wouldn't have minded it, but—"

He cut off then, and the fact that he was trying even harder at that point to not look at Bitters despite conversing with him became even more apparent. Matthews was practically turning his entire body to face the other side of the corridor away from him at this point.

Bitters blinked. He wasn't really sure why he asked what he did next in a really not-at-all teasing tone, and he wasn't quite sure what he was hoping the answer would be for it either: "Were you waiting for me?"

Matthews swallowed nervously and promptly started walking quickly away down the corridor instead of answering, Bitters having to move fast to keep up. His teammate was definitely a fast mover when faced with situations he felt were uncomfortable.

"Well—well, it was odd, wasn't it?" The auburn-haired lieutenant finally managed to blurt out, still looking anywhere but directly at Bitters walking next to him, "No one knew if you were in trouble or—"

"Thanks." Bitters cut Matthews off before he rambled too much and got himself into more of an embarrassed tizzy than he was just then. The last time he had done that while walking, his friend had managed to run right into a wall.

Matthews just nodded, continuing forward.

Bitters thought back to what had happened earlier with the bet, honestly surprised that Matthews hadn't been physically avoiding him since then given everything, "Does this mean you're still going to talk to me?"

Matthews stopped walking, looking thoroughly confused by the question. It finally stumped him enough that he actually looked Bitters in the eye for the first time since he'd shown up in the corridor, "Why wouldn't I?"

The slightly older boy frowned, "I just thought, because of earlier—"

Realization caused Matthews' cheeks to turn red again, and he looked at the apparently now incredibly fascinating wall on the opposite side of where Bitters was standing. The other lieutenant instantly regretted having brought it up, as apparently Matthews' new coping technique for that kind of stuff was to try to actively pretend like it never happened.

"Sorry." Bitters mumbled, unsure of what to say. He just really didn't want things being weird between the two of them again.

Finally, the color faded from Matthews' face and neck somewhat. He shook his head.

"It—it's okay." He grinned sheepishly, turning to face his friend once more, "It was just a joke, you know? Caught me off-guard a little."

"That's putting it mildly." Bitters raised an eyebrow, "You know Smith was prepping for if you passed out, right?"

His face reddened again and he muttered a quick "I know." under his breath.

"Normally, you'd avoid me and the others for weeks after something like that." Bitters observed.

Matthews glanced at the ground and Bitters wondered if he'd start nervously moving his fingers together like he sometimes did when really stressed. Bitters always watched when it would happen during Matthews' pacing moments in their room, and would have to turn away to avoid the inexplicable urge he would get to grab at the digits to steady them.

"I—I know that too. But," Matthews glanced nervously over at Bitters as if to gauge his reaction, "You—you guys are my friends now and I—I don't want to not talk to them. Or to you."

There was something odd in the way he said that last part, and it hit something in Bitters' gut hard.

That or he'd eaten something really strange at dinner and it was just now making his stomach start to flip.

It was surprising how relieved Bitters felt at the idea that he didn't have to deal with a no-more-than-usual-by-now awkward Matthews just because their friends were dumbasses. He was trying to think of a way to respond that wasn't too heavy on the touchy-feeling stuff he tended to avoid getting into or that would somehow cause his friend to change his mind when—

"Hey, Bitters! I guess Sarge didn't kill you after all, huh?"

Palomo was racing towards them with a grin on his face, totally oblivious to the fact that his teammates had been in the middle of a conversation just then.

Matthews seemed to find the ground fascinating once again. Bitters sighed, whether out of exasperation for the interruption or because Palomo's comment had been way too cheery sounding for its context, he couldn't say.

"Nope, apparently not." He replied dryly.

His friend's grin widened, "Well, that's good! You know a lot of people had money on just the opposite." He nodded sagely, "Or on where the gunshot wounds would be."

The mention of betting had Matthews suddenly looking at Bitters nervously once more and quickly excusing himself from intruding any further on the old friends' new conversation.

Bitters felt his eye begin to twitch slightly.

"Kaikaina said it was okay as long as we weren't betting on sex anymore. I can split the money with you and Matthews if you'd like!" His friend offered helpfully, "The poor guy ran off so quickly after dinner that he didn't even get to place a bet."

He supposed, at least, it was nice of Palomo to split the earnings he made at his expense with him and that he even wanted to include Matthews too.

Even still, Bitters groaned: "Shut the fuck up, Palomo."

"Aw, you know it will be fun! It'll be like a prep for the party! Maybe we can get everyone else to hang out with us too." His childhood friend smiled, "Once we find out where Matthews ran off too. He's pretty fast, isn't he?"

He knew Palomo, in his own way, was just trying to get everybody's minds onto something else. He always tried doing that, ever since they were little, despite having a pretty bad success rate with it.

Yeah, the other recruits were his teammates and his friends and, yeah, they could also drive him up a wall sometimes.

Bitters was still trying to determine if that was really such a bad thing though.

---

It had really only taken Washington the walk over to the "party" to completely regret having decided to come at all.

Hardly surprising, really, given Grey's disturbing commentary on the types of diseases and bodily fluids one could find at such establishments. Or DuFresne's inane chatter. Or Church glaring at Washington's intrusion every two seconds like clockwork. Not to mention actually seeing the poorly named establishment with its tacky sign. Seriously: worst name ever. Of all time.

It took just about an hour into the event to really cement regretting the decision to come.

Now he was fairly certain he would literally rather be anywhere but here. At all.

Hell, going on a sparring mission with South after she'd lost another rank would have been a more enjoyable pastime and he had actually had the unfortunate luck of having actually done just that once! The experience had ended with bruised ribs, a fractured wrist, and the blond-haired woman with orchid-dyed tips telling him bluntly that he needed to "Suck it up." while he was in the infirmary.

Fortunately, after the pink-armored Resistance fighter named Donut had gotten his fifth or so colorful drink with an umbrella in it, he seemed to have given up on trying to get him and some of the other more reticent party-goers to belt out old pop songs.

The poor kid had a rather unfortunate name, though Washington noticed that any teasing Donut may have gotten because of it growing up didn't seem to dampen his spirits in the slightest.

Donut's beverages were not Washington's drinks of choice, but he had an odd sense of nostalgia at the sight of the bendy-straw that always came with them: he used to try drinking sodas with them through his helmet just to see if it was possible to do so. North and York had always teased him about it to no end—probably their favorite "Wash" joke beyond the "grappling hook to the balls" story.

So, Washington was left more or less in peace for a while after having secured a small table close to one of the far walls while nursing his own beer.

The seat gave the Freelancer a good view as Donut and DuFresne started singing some ballad he wasn't completely sure they hadn't just made up on the spot given how random the lyrics seemed to be.

Observation was always critical, as was establishing potential escape routes or ambush spots. This line of thinking was probably a sign of just how paranoid he'd become in general given the lack of any real threat he had long since established in this location. But, he still always felt slightly more at ease being overly cautious in any room he was in nowadays. It had long since become a force of habit.

Having clear sights of any exits to be had in a darkened space helped quiet some of the rising fears of the dark, enclosed spaces he carried with him now because of Epsilon's experiences.

Washington could even say noticing exits helped keep him somewhat at ease, along with simply having the chance to do some deep breathing and making sure he was of the right state of mind to be aware of the "present" enough to discern it from the "past." His or Epsilon's too often interconnected now for the Above Grounder to discern the differences anymore. They were all a part of "him" in different ways.

Oddly enough though, despite how ludicrous the entire situation was, he didn't necessarily think the duo was all that bad with their singing.

They were certainly better than the few times he remembered York trying to belt out a few notes to impress Carolina: it had never worked really beyond making her roll her eyes and smirking at him. His friend was horribly tone-deaf and knew it. York just enjoyed the chance to make someone amused or laugh even if it meant acting ridiculously silly.

Washington tried really hard not to notice that Doctor Grey was trying to appear nonchalant as she reached out to swab empty glasses once people put them down in her vicinity. He wasn't even sure how she had gotten invited to this whole thing, and he was fairly certain he didn't want to know what she was up to with that whole swabbing business either.

Knowing about the black light earlier was bad enough, especially when Doctor Grey just had to show him what was in the men's bathroom of all places earlier because "It's really fascinating!" and "How do you think they got that on the ceiling in the first place?"

Church was sulking off in the opposite corner of the bar, Caboose excitedly going on about something or other next to him. The kid looked about as happy as if he was in a candy store unsupervised.

Caboose had been talking to Washington earlier about a new trick Freckles had learned, while Washington tried making sure the Resistance fighter didn't go back to the bathroom to try making balloon animals with the "party supplies" he found there. That was definitely something Washington never thought he would ever have to do in his lifetime.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not that Caboose had so attached himself to Church just then. On one hand, it gave him some time to himself without worrying about what would happen if Caboose somehow got a hold of something more potent than a soda.

On the other hand, it gave Washington time to himself which wasn't exactly best for him these days (too many thoughts and memories to get stuck on, to dwell on).

Thoughts would begin to play in his mind. Such as why he was even here, for instance.

A part of him was very much berating the unnecessary act of coming. Church had made it very clear besides that he had thought it a pointless intrusion of someone who he considered more or less an outsider to his team, and that he hadn't been thrilled on Washington's insistence on coming along "to make sure they stayed out of trouble."

Church did not complain nearly as much in regards to Doctor Grey being there, but Washington suspected that was probably because of Grey's more-than-just-a-little unnerving remarks at times about the practice of medicine. Also probably because she didn't happen to be a Freelancer who would get nervous looks in the halls from time-to-time still due to his "episode" and who Church's own cousin happened to not be showing as much trust towards recently.

Surely Washington had more important things to do than play the role of a glorified babysitter?

The group really wasn't his responsibility to begin with. After all, he was here more on Hargrove's orders than he was for anything involving Freelancer.

Besides, Carolina hadn't really ordered him to do anything either. The conversation she had with him about Simmons had been more of a warning and an information briefing. It was simply another thing he had been kept in the dark about in regards to the Council's more recent activities, something that he would have to keep an eye on.

Generally speaking, it seemed as if beyond that Carolina was intentionally trying to keep Washington out of the loop in regards to Church's team and her own actions. He couldn't blame her for that, really, as it was a practical move all things considered. He was doing much the same with his own agenda.

Yet, his "orders" as they stood from Hargrove were still to remain on standby. He had even less to do to distance himself from his own thoughts and memories since that damn stall had happened.

Maybe that was one of the underlining reasons the Freelancer had insisted on tagging along to the party: he could drown out his worries in the flood of noise and activity going on.

Besides, while it did have very little ultimately to do with him personally, a part of him had wanted to come to the party just to keep an eye on Florida's team.

Despite his annoyance at Washington's intrusion, Church had the type of short fuse that could quite possibly lead to some kind of incident if given the proper incentive.

Truthfully, he was amazed at the amount of control the cobalt-wearing soldier was displaying when it came to Caboose, as Washington only ever heard from across the space "For the love of God, shut the fuck up!" every so often but in a much more restrained way than expected.

Not to mention, given his suspicions as to who Church actually was despite how he came across, the Freelancer didn't exactly think it smart to have him wandering through what essentially amounted to enemy territory either.

During his observations, Washington noted that Church never drank while here. Thinking back to the numerous times he'd seen Church at the mess hall, Washington had never seen the Above Grounder actually eat or drink anything—an obvious sign most likely too for the Freelancer's suspicions. It was odd how it seemed to be so overlooked by everyone else.

DuFresne seemed far too gullible to have walking through the Slums by himself. Oddly enough, that was a viewpoint Washington knew both he and Church shared. The purple medic was liable to wander straight into his own lynch mob and help set things up for everyone participating without even realizing it, which didn't exactly have Washington feeling too confident about him being on his own.

The Freelancer honestly couldn't tell if it was a good or bad thing that the bespectacled man seemed to bond so quickly to Donut. The Resistance fighter with dirty blond hair seemed just as naïve as DuFresne was when it came to what was actually going on around him. That was pretty apparent since he came up with this whole get-together thing in the first place.

Seriously, with both Donut and Caboose here, Washington was partially suspecting that a few of the other Resistance members only came just to keep an eye on them. He would even occasionally see Tucker or Grif looking over at the two younger members of their respective teams as if just to make sure they weren't going to put their fingers in open electrical sockets or something.

Simmons also seemed like the type of person who could get easily overwhelmed in outings such as this given how they were so far out of his comfort zone. Given that and the reveal from Carolina about the Council's supposed "interest" in the cyborg, the Freelancer figured it might be a good idea to keep an eye out on him as well.

Washington had given his word, after all. Besides, Simmons was something of a friend. Probably one of the only few Washington actually still had, even though he tried avoiding the redhead now for what he hoped were obviously understandable reasons. He didn't exactly want to anything bad to happen to his friend.

But, despite clearly being uncomfortable in the environment, it seemed as if his concern over Simmons wasn't all that necessary. The pale soldier seemed rather more at ease than Washington would have expected given where they were and his normal social awkwardness, especially when in the presence of the heavier built Slums resident that Tucker had said was his boyfriend earlier.

Washington had been surprised to hear it given Simmons' general disposition and thought Tucker had been joking at the time, but given how the two were interacting now….well, even he could tell there was probably something there, even if it didn't seem like they were acknowledging it.

It was odd to think of Simmons knowing someone from the Slums that well at all, truthfully, but given his own secrets he knew it wasn't in his right to pry.

Truthfully, the one member of Church's squad he hadn't been that concerned about was the robot Sheila, if only because she had a much more mild temperament. What that said about most of her teammates by comparison given that she wasn't human was probably better left unsaid for a myriad of different reasons.

Since they had arrived, she'd been glued to the side of the brown-armored Resistance fighter: another robot who apparently could only speak Spanish.

Washington sighed, taking a sip of his beer and debating on whether or not he should even stay since it seemed as if any of his concerns for tonight had been largely unfounded.

A part of him was jumping at the chance to leave since he wasn't exactly fond of places like this in the first place. Still, it wasn't as if he had anywhere else to be at the moment either. At least it was almost semi-entertaining observing things and people here.

Like Tucker, for instance.

Washington watched out of the corner of his eye as the dark-skinned Resistance fighter sauntered over to yet another female bar patron seconds after a failed attempt with a different one. Apparently, he was optimistic that the twelfth time would be the charm.

The blonde watched rather amusingly as words he couldn't quite hear were exchanged. Then said female promptly dumped the contents of the glass in her hand on top of Tucker's head before storming off in an annoyed huff to join her cheering friends.

Stuff like that never got old, and Washington supposed he could at least give the guy points for persistence.

Evidently, Tucker had been standing close enough after that embarrassing display that when he turned to scope out who else was around, he saw right away that Washington had witnessed it. His brown eyes narrowed somewhat at the smirk that the older man was just not that quick at concealing at his expense.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." He snapped at him, the eye contact apparently being enough of an invitation for him to plop down tiredly in the seat across from Washington.

His reaction only caused Washington's sudden amusement to grow. He had to give it to Tucker: the Resistance fighter could be a pretty good distraction at times from his own far too brooding thoughts.

"I didn't say anything."

"Whatever, dude, it was clearly written all over your face." He scowled in response.

"I was just curious about what you could have possibly said to all of those women to get them that upset with you." Washington remarked.

"Do you really want to know?" Tucker grinned, making a horribly suggestive wink at the same time.

Washington groaned, "On second thought, no. I can honestly say I do not want to know." He smirked again though, motioning to the liquid now running down Tucker's neck and soaking his shirt, "At least it was a drink and not a punch this time."

He huffed, smirking himself, "They just didn't get my charm!"

The Above Grounder raised an eyebrow at that, "Yes, I am sure that's it."

Tucker snorted dismissively, "Easy enough to say for a guy who isn't even attempting to socialize."

Washington glanced down uncomfortably at the table, frowning: "Bars…aren't really my thing."

He had been to a few in the past of course, always with teammates off-hours. While the Freelancer had enjoyed himself then to degrees, he hadn't exactly felt comfortable or at home in that sort of environment.

Oddly enough, the most enjoyment he'd had at a bar was just having a few drinks with Maine after particularly stressful missions. Back when the older man had decided the rookie member needed to relax before he had some kind of nervous panic attack. The quiet Freelancer had never really been one for small talk or loud parties either, so he generally did relax during those moments instead of getting pressured to do something insanely stupid. It was never a wise idea to go out with York or South as they were always dying to get a prank in or have loud yelling matches from across the bar.

It had been the same way with North and Florida as it had with Maine concerning bar outings, though neither of them tended to be that big on alcohol to begin with. Besides, if North was going to a bar, it was usually to chaperone other people: namely York or his sister, which usually meant the yelling point still stood.

Ever since it happened, Washington had no real incentive to go to a bar: not with all of his friends who would have tried forcing him to do so being either dead or defectors.

Which, admittedly, probably wasn't something he should be thinking about right now.

"Can't say that's a big fucking surprise." Tucker commented, motioning to a passing waitress for another beer. She put it down while rolling her eyes at the wink he gave her before she left.

Tucker watched Washington speculatively as the freckled blonde played with the bottle he had pretty much been nursing all night.

"I was kind of shocked you came though, given that." He finally said, tone more conversational than outright teasing as it had been earlier.

Washington shrugged, motioning to Donut and DuFresne as they very literally twirled past the table, "Doesn't exactly seem like a good idea to let them be unsupervised."

"Figured you'd only come to be a killjoy." Tucker grinned and hurriedly continued though before Washington responded in annoyance to the joke, oddly enough nodding his head, "Though I get it. Caboose on his own at a bar would be a bad idea."

"I could imagine."

Tucker glanced over at where his teammate was still adamantly talking to a clearly exasperated Above Grounder with a goatee, "Thankfully though, he likes you and that Church asshole enough that I have some time to flirt with the ladies."

"Glad I could help you get rejected five hundred more times. It's oddly entertaining." Washington returned dryly.

"Oh, fuck off." His tablemate flipped the Freelancer off as he guzzled down the rest of his beer.

"You seriously expected me to believe you wouldn't have come out at all tonight if it weren't for Caboose?" Washington asked him.

Given Tucker's general outlook and attitude towards things, the younger man didn't strike him as being someone who would probably miss out on an opportunity for something he'd consider fun.

Tucker tapped his index finger on the table thoughtfully, "Well, if I hadn't found a babysitter probably not."

Oh, right. Tucker had mentioned a son last year. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know more than that on the subject though. Prying into a relative acquaintance's personal life was a bit too intrusive for his tastes.

Besides, probably the less he knew on the backstories of people he could have to potentially fight against the better. It made it easier if something should occur down the road, after all, though he was finding himself sincerely hoping it wouldn't despite not being nearly as naïve as some people seemed to be on the prospect.

"I would have been majorly bummed though. Parties are way too fucking rare nowadays," Tucker continued, a mischievous light gleaming in his eyes as he motioned to his tan friend still engrossed in conversation with Simmons farther away, "Besides, Kai and I could always use the blackmail on the fat-ass over there."

"Kai?" Washington hadn't heard Tucker mention anyone by that name before. Then again, it wasn't as if the two of them were friends who interacted much.

"Grif's sister." Tucker said in way of a quick explanation, "We were neighbors growing up."

"I see."

Then they had joined the Resistance together too, for whatever reasoning they had. It almost reminded him a bit of himself and Connie. Odd to think of how his childhood friend had known someone from the Slums in the past, the same as Tucker's friend, Grif, apparently knowing an Above Grounder like Simmons.

It was strange how things worked out sometimes. He hoped for Simmons' sake, at least, that their relationship would have a better outcome than what had happened with C.T. and her friend from the Slums. For her sake, Washington tried not referring to him as the Insurrection Leader too much in his head given how he hadn't been that when the two had met apparently. But, considering the war situation they were in now…

He sighed tiredly, trying to tell himself it wasn't really his problem anyways.

"And you wouldn't have, right?" Tucker asked, apparently going back to the topic they'd been on earlier while Washington was mulling things over in his head. He nodded as if answering his own question, smirking, "I'm guessing probably not with that giant stick up your ass and all."

That got Washington's attention. He glared at the other man, gray eyes narrowing, "I do not have a giant stick up my ass."

"If you say so." Tucker was grinning, apparently enjoying having gotten under the Freelancer's skin with that particular jab, "Though if you did have one, I bet you it's nowhere near as bad as the one Church has up his."

Washington glanced over at the scowling man in question. He couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the mental image that comment caused, if only because of Church's attitude towards him earlier, "No, I suppose not. I guess I should take comfort in that?"

"Yeah, it means you're slightly less of an asshole than he is." Tucker nodded sagely, as if this was somehow a huge compliment he was giving Washington. Perhaps in his head, it was.

"Thanks." He smiled slightly still due to the absurdity of it all.

Tucker's own smile widened at the sarcastic response, and subsequently he turned his attention to Washington's beer, "Though seeing as that's probably the only drink you've had tonight, I'm guessing you're a lightweight, huh? Which totally opens you up to more mocking, by the way."

Washington frowned, looking at the bottle.

Truthfully, he wasn't too big on drinking in general and hadn't even realized he'd not been doing much of it while here. But, given Tucker's teasing tone just then and the implication he knew was behind it, having heard similar cajoling from York, South, and Connie on occasion…

"Is that supposed to be a challenge?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tucker shrugged, "Maybe." He said noncommittally, but the playful look was back in his eyes, "I kind of want to give myself a break before trying to hook up with another hot chick and, hey, out-drinking an almighty Freelancer who is refusing to even fucking mingle might be pretty entertaining."

It was stupid, ridiculous, absolutely pointless, and above all risky.

But, Washington felt himself smirking in response all the same.

There was a lot going through his mind recently, after all. Maybe, just maybe, this bar trip was a good way to distance himself from it. At least temporarily.

He maybe didn't like drinking so much, but that didn't mean he couldn't hold his liquor. All of his teammates in Project Freelancer who had challenged him thinking they could get a few laughs in at the rookie's expense had learned that the hard way.

He almost, almost felt sorry for Tucker as he motioned to the waitress for another drink too.

The poor guy was going down.

---

C.T. sighed as the miniature teal alien climbed over the table she was sitting at once again, loudly proclaiming a bored-sounding "Blargh!" as he did so.

Only a few hours in and she could feel a massive headache coming on.

Though, in hindsight, that was probably to be expected.

When she had offered to babysit Junior for Tucker at Donut's suggestion in an attempt at building a rapport with her reluctant teammate, she had stated that she didn't mind kids.

She had, admittedly, neglected to mention the fact that she had never interacted much with them on a one-on-one basis for anything longer than an hour, or that the closest thing she had ever done to "babysitting" was sometimes looking out for Washington's cats.

Despite a younger David's arguments to the contrary, she found that cats were very different things altogether from kids. Whenever they discussed the topic, C.T. always joked that her childhood friend would probably end up becoming a cat lady if the soldier thing didn't work out for him.

Besides, Junior, being an alien, was an altogether different type of child than the norm.

The whole babysitting episode had started out rather badly since she had apparently decided on activities that were too young for him. Apparently, while Caboose still loved to color, Junior thought the whole concept was far too juvenile.

Now after having gotten something to eat, the youngster was apparently treating the (thankfully) mostly deserted mess hall as a sort of homemade jungle gym while she was contemplating what next to do to kill time and keep him safely entertained safely.

She was also debating inwardly on whether or not she really wanted Tucker to trust her enough to volunteer for this sort of thing more in the future. The former Freelancer couldn't imagine Junior was that impressed with her babysitting skills at this point either, after all.

"He sure is a handful, huh?"

She nearly jumped at Felix's voice coming from directly behind her, spinning around in her seat to see the mercenary looking at her reaction in mild amusement.

He was one of the few people that could actually regularly catch her off-guard, which the brunette found more than a bit unnerving given how she had focused so much of her time on her own stealth training.

Felix turned his dark eyes from her to glance at Junior with an odd look of interest on his face. Junior, while very much like most children in terms of his mannerisms most of the time, did take some getting used to given his appearance.

Even several of the Resistance fighters who were used to his presence now still did a double-take with him sometimes, and C.T. did feel bad for the kid as a result whenever she witnessed it. She imagined it probably wasn't easy being the only one of your kind at his age in particular. Though, to his credit, Junior never seemed to showcase any distress or loneliness at his situation from what she had seen when he was at base.

The little alien hybrid apparently seemed to sense the mercenary's regard as he stopped hyperactively jumping to tilt his head up questioningly at the man in steel and orange armor.

"Blargh?" Junior said in what seemed to be a questioning tone.

When Felix spoke in an oddly conversational tone though, it was either more to himself or to C.T. than in response to Junior despite his eyes never leaving him, "You know, this is the first time I've been this close to one of these guys without having been paid to bring the body in."

Aliens had been a relatively unknown sight until a ship had crash-landed a few years after Above Ground had been founded, stranding several of them on the planet along with the humans who had long since apparently been forgotten about by their own home world. No one was quite sure if they had been here previously or not though and had just been able to conceal themselves better before that particular mishap, or what had brought them there initially to begin with.

They were apparently able to enter into the tunnels surrounding the Slums and adapt to living there surprisingly quick for a people who potentially had never been to the planet before, and there was a lot of alien technology discovered even before the ship's crash both on the surface and in the mines. Perhaps this place had some kind of cultural or other kind of value to them that they would return at times for visits, though it seemed to never be in enough numbers to be considered a potential invading force.

Aliens had long since then been considered both as potentially dangerous or potentially lucrative by most based off of their combat skills and technology. A while ago, both the Council and military of Above Ground and the black markets paid large sums of money to anyone who could bring them the bodies of these crash-landed creatures or any of their tech and equipment.

It didn't surprise C.T. in the slightest to hear that Felix had been hired for such jobs in the past back when the aliens' numbers had been much more noticeable. Now, it seemed very likely that unless there was a strong possibility that they were extremely good at hiding themselves, Junior was probably the last one on the planet—and he was technically half-human despite his appearance to the contrary.

Saying it so casually as Felix did, and right in front of Junior too, wasn't exactly in the best of tastes though.

"Blargh!" Junior's words may have been lost in terms of their exact meaning to the two humans, but the anger in the child's voice was apparent.

Given who his father was and the fact that Junior seemed to idolize him given his own specialized armor coloring, C.T. was fairly certain what was said was probably something along the lines of "Fuck off!"

"He understands what you're saying." She informed Felix, glaring reproachfully at him as well.

He looked downright amused again, "Figured he might. Just wanted to make sure."

"By being an obvious asshole?" She raised a brown eyebrow incredulously, anger at the little "test" he had done rising with each passing second that she thought on it.

"Tucker would rip you a new one, I think." C.T. narrowed her eyes at him, "I might beat him to it though."

The mercenary didn't seem all that impressed or terrified by her warning, though he did raise his hands up quickly in a pacifying gesture and took a few steps back as if hoping to appease the two angry people before him all the same.

"Hey, easy now. No one's been given assignments like that for years." He said in way of explanation, "It was only because the big guys were hostile a lot of the time."

Felix raised a black eyebrow in her direction then, the amusement back on his face: "You do remember that, don't you, Ms. Insurrectionist Spy?"

She frowned at his mocking title, though she couldn't really deny it.

"Besides, I wouldn't kill a little kid. Not unless I was paid a shitload of money for it." He grinned, "Which I don't think Kimball will be doing anytime soon, do you?"

"It was a poor choice for a joke then." She muttered, glaring at him still.

"Probably." He shrugged, tilting his head slightly in Junior's direction and finally acknowledging him directly, "Sorry, kiddo."

Junior huffed, turning his back to them. Felix regarded him for a few more moments, still looking more amused and analytical than personally regretful.

Perhaps, as a mercenary, aliens had always been more a source of income to him than anything else. Seeing one outside of that spectrum was likely more a curiosity point for Felix.

Still, given how Junior was reacting to him in general, it was probably best for him to be on his way now.

C.T. waited to see if hopefully the mercenary was thinking along those same lines himself. Just as she was about to open her mouth to suggest that if he didn't have anything else he wanted to say or do in the mess hall he should probably just leave, Felix beat her to the punch.

"You really are trying to build up team trust, huh?" He turned to look the former Freelancer directly in the eyes, "Going out of your element like this."

She had to admit, his observational skills were surprisingly sharp. It was easy to see that his boasting about ability wasn't just all talk, even outside of actual combat scenarios.

When she didn't respond to his remark, he continued, "Think it will work?"

The brunette glanced up at him, not quite sure about the odd way he toned the question. Was he fishing for a specific response then, be it a verbal or physical reaction? Why would it concern him in the first place?

"It doesn't really matter if it does or doesn't." She finally responded, keeping her voice and expression as guarded and neutral as possibly to gauge how he would react.

Felix nodded in agreement, not missing a beat, "Certainly won't matter to someone like me, at any rate." He said, shrugging nonchalantly as he did so to further illustrate how little it concerned him.

She sighed, "So did you just come down here to gawk and shoot the breeze then, Felix? Or is there something you actually want?"

"Figured you wouldn't beat around the bush too much." He grinned approvingly, "Actually, I did come down here for a specific reason."

"Which was…?"

The amused, almost jovial disposition he'd been carrying up until this point vanished in a second—a much more serious look crossing over his features, "Have you heard from any of your Freelancer buddies about activity in the tunnels?" He asked, voice oddly quiet, "Anything about them trailing people in the tunnels and giving you messages to pass to Kimball?"

"No." She blinked, surprised at the question, "Why?"

"Just curious. My radio seems to be on the fritz and I know how fucking secretive your group can be. Figured if they were having similar troubles, they might be able to still get by on some encrypted channel." He looked contemplative, "Like that one you and Agent Tex used to communicate back when you were her Freelancer contact."

Shit, the dark-haired man seriously did his work then, though it wasn't as if what they had been doing couldn't be easily pieced together after she had defected. Still, it was rather impressive that Felix knew the information without having asked anyone about.

"I've heard some odd rumors is all." His expression darkened and his hand twitched slightly in the direction of the combat knife he enjoyed tossing around at times, "About someone I'm just dying to meet again on an even playing field."

She didn't have to make too big of a guess about who he was referring to with that remark. Everyone knew that Locus and Felix had worked together in the past, and that their partnership had ended on extremely bad terms.

Her own experiences with that Locus bastard had been far from pleasant, so she could understand how difficult working in a unit directly with him probably had been.

"You could ask them directly if you go out on patrols later yourself. Or Kimball later if you talk to her about getting your radio fixed." The former Freelancer paused to think for a second, "Last I heard, she had been out patrolling with North."

"Kimball actually went out with North?" There was an odd tenseness that crossed his features that seemed to be a little bit more than just surprise, though it was so miniscule and fleeting it was more than likely someone else would have missed it entirely as Felix raised an eyebrow, "Didn't realize they were friends."

The conversational tone the dialogue had gone into caused C.T. to relax enough that she raised an eyebrow herself before asking in a joking tone, "Jealous?"

He snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes, "Hardly. I just thought they'd be more cautious. If something happened to Kimball, I doubt it would end well for anyone here."

Which was why it was rare for the Resistance leader to ever go out on missions despite being more than capable of taking care of herself.

C.T. knew that the only reason Kimball had even considered going now was that attack threats were so minimal since the Council's forces, wherever they were, had to play by their own silly rules in this strange course of events. The patrols were really only doing simple scouting and observation missions.

Still, it seemed like Felix was perhaps actually a little worried so she said reassuringly, "She's tough, and North isn't exactly a slouch himself." Definitely not, given how he had always kicked her ass in the Freelancer rankings, "I doubt they're going to be jumping and yelling, or making themselves easy targets."

"I get paid regardless, so it's no skin off my back what happens." Whether or not the mercenary said that to be convincing to her or to himself, C.T. couldn't say.

Felix shrugged, apparently deciding the conversation had ended as he started heading to the nearest exit with a wave over his shoulder, "I'll be heading out soon myself once I see about getting this fucking radio fixed again." He said, adding off-handedly in way of goodbye, "Be sure not to lose Tucker's kid or something, I guess."

"Blargh!" Junior said to his retreating back, and the accompanying hand gesture he gave along with the remark made C.T. feel like he had probably said something along the lines of "Good riddance!" to the mercenary.

"I'm with you there." She said to the child, smiling slightly, "Was that conversation as weird to you as it was to me?"

"Blargh." He nodded in agreement.

"Glad it wasn't just me then." She felt a sense of solidarity with the kid now, if nothing else.

Before she could really ponder the odd points of that interaction all too much, there was a commotion from the corridor closest to their table. A familiar head poked in as eyes registered the sight of the two people sitting in the empty mess hall.

"Agent Connecticut!"

Lieutenant John Smith saluted the woman, which caused her to smile slightly in return. No matter how many times people told him he didn't have to salute here, he always did. It seemed Smith would always be a stickler for protocol, even as he asked her: "Are you watching Captain Tucker's son then?"

Junior gave an exuberant cry at the sight of the large man as he entered the mess hall, jumping down from the table's surface he was standing on to run around Smith happily.

Apparently they had met before, which made sense she supposed. Smith was often in Caboose's company, and Junior would often be around his father's teammates while on base. Though it seemed that the child did not like that Caboose would often try comparing him to Freckles on those occasions.

"Yes, I volunteered to watch him tonight." C.T. explained.

The lieutenant looked down at the teal alien then, who was now gripping onto his hand excitedly, "Have you been behaving?"

"Blargh!" Junior said in way of confirmation, following it with an enthusiastic head nod.

With how quickly Junior had latched onto him, it seemed as if Smith really had a way with kids. C.T. wondered if he had perhaps had some experience with children at some earlier point in his past, though she knew better than to pry into other people's personal lives.

"He's been great." She added in as confirmation to what she assumed was Junior's glowing praise of his behavior tonight, then she frowned slightly, "I'm probably not as great a babysitter though."

"Oh?" The older man looked at her curiously following her remark.

"I haven't quite figured out something for him to do that he doesn't get immediately bored with."

Smith seemed to contemplate her dilemma for a moment, a look of concentration crossing over his features that he usually only reserved for when he was trying to impart deep meanings to the sayings and orders of his superiors.

It was surprising how often he would have the expression when listening to Caboose, just before the moment of "clarity" he would get upon whatever it was he thought her blue-armored teammate was trying to say. His interpretation about Caboose's desire for milk before bedtime had been a truly impressive one, she recalled.

However, before Smith could respond he was interrupted by the arrival of Jensen, perhaps the youngest of the new lieutenants. She had apparently seen the small group from outside the mess hall as well. Her freckled face lit up at the sight of some familiar people being there at this time of night.

"Hi, little guy!" The pigtailed-wearing girl exclaimed happily at Junior, before nodding a greeting to the two humans, "Hello, Agent Connecticut. Smith."

C.T. smiled at the girl, rather enjoying the company. The new recruits were some of the only soldiers in the Resistance who always treated her in a friendly manner.

It was understandable that many of the others wouldn't after all, given her past. But, it was nice to not have that always be the case. She was thankful to the handful who didn't either glare at her as she walked past them or gossip about her past ties to either the Insurrection or Above Ground.

"What happened with Volleyball and Kaikaina?" Smith asked Jensen after nodding in response to her greeting, looking thoughtfully at his younger teammate, "You three are usually always together during off-hours."

"Kaikaina said she wanted to get something from home, and Volleyball said she'd help." She smiled at the recollection, "They said there was no reason all three of us had to get in trouble if they got caught."

Smith exchanged a look with C.T., clearly uncomfortable with knowing that the girls had snuck off-base.

The former Freelancer shrugged, a playful smile forming at the corners of her mouth as she said conspiratorially, "I won't tell if you won't."

That seemed to ease Smith's mind slightly, though he turned to Jensen with a serious look on his face in order to give his teammate some advice, "Best not to mention that to anyone else."

"Only you guys because I know you can keep a secret!" The girl beamed, "Palomo would definitely blab."

Jensen turned to glance between the two of them, and then down at the smaller person in their midst hopefully, "Would you mind if I stayed with you guys for awhile, then? I hardly ever get to hang out with Junior!"

The alien child seemed to like that idea as well, letting out an ecstatic "Bow-chicka-honk-honk!" in response.

The tan girl giggled at the energetic reply, and C.T. couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly.

The expression was innocent enough coming from Junior as it seemed that he was clearly just excited at having more people who wanted to play with him, but it definitely showcased how much of an influence his father was on his life even this early on.

The brunette could just imagine how much of a handful his "teenage years" were going to be.

"The more the merrier, I guess." The former Freelancer said, secretly grateful for the company, "He certainly seems to like the idea."

"Blargh!" The alien child jumped in response.

"Great!" Jensen smiled again, though she looked almost regretful moments later, "It's too bad there isn't a playground for him down here, given how much energy he has."

This remark had an odd effect on Smith, who had a look of dawning realization crossing over his face following it.

He glanced between Jensen and C.T., smiling enigmatically, "No, but there is an obstacle course. If we get Sarge's permission, of course."

---

The number of times that Simmons had spent at any sort of "party" or bar he could literally count on—well, he honestly didn't have to count the times on anything since he had never been to any. Ever.

He wasn't going to count the birthday parties his mom would always throw for him since that would be even sadder, particularly considering how they had always been comprised of himself, his mother, cake, and…neighborhood/school kids he was fairly certain hadn't even known he'd existed most of the time and couldn't even recall his name properly while there.

Then, subsequently while during training and his time as a soldier, events never came up. Captain Flowers and Doc had talked about possible outings at times, but any talk of that had died out the second their commanding officer had been killed.

So the cybernetic Above Grounder was completely, utterly, mind-numbingly out of his element here.

The horribly named "Randy Offering" was far too loud, especially with his enhanced hearing. He would have had a massive migraine by now if Dr. Grey hadn't noticed him grimacing outside the bar's entrance before they'd even stepped inside and given him some medicine she had on hand—partially out of sympathy, and also partially just to see if it would do anything on a cyborg. Thankfully, at least, it seemed to be taking the painful edge out of noise.

The place was also too crowded for his comfort levels. The Slums often were more crowded than Above Ground in general given the population size compared to the space available to them, which was something he'd always found a bit off-putting when visiting there.

Simmons seriously wouldn't have been surprised if a third of that population was crammed into this bar tonight: everyone was cramped together into their own cliques and intermingling. The whole situation was causing his social anxiety to really be on edge.

Given the on-purpose darker lighting, the Above Grounder's augmented vision modes were turning off and on at an alarming rate. He could control them manually when he really focused on them, but they had automatic adjustments too which apparently got confused when in environments they hadn't been programmed specifically for.

Apparently military scientists had never really put much consideration behind what would happen if soldiers went to "dive bars" on nights off, so he had to constantly try to switch the vision modes off or adjust to the sudden moments they would flare to life with annoying frequency. His vision issues were causing him to feel a little dizzy and out of sorts at times along with his nerves.

Oddly enough, drinking did seem to help take some of the edge off of his anxiety and malfunctions too—blurring his senses so to speak. But, he also had no idea just how much alcohol it would take to get him horribly drunk since he wasn't much of a drinker in the first place and he assumed that would be a bad idea on a whole lot of different levels.

And no, they didn't all have to do with the pamphlets on excess drinking that Donut and Doc had passed around to the group earlier. Or the disturbing photos Dr. Grey seemed to like showing people about the after effects of alcohol on the human body—though those in particular certainly didn't help anything.

Simmons had also been more than just a tad concerned about potential health code violations in the "Randy Offering" given how lax the Slums could be compared to most Above Ground establishments, and that was even before Doctor Grey had decided to play her fun game of "I spy something that could be blood on that stool! …Or fecal matter!"

Of course, that certainly didn't help dampen his fears despite her oddly cheerful manner in describing the "fascinating" stains littering the place.

On top of all of that, Agent Washington and Church had been glaring at each other the entire time while they waited for the Resistance fighters earlier.

Their stare-off started pretty much the very second the Freelancer had surprised them all by saying he was coming along, which had made Simmons' nerves even worse given how he had still been debating on whether or not the whole "party" idea was even a good idea to begin with.

However, the cyborg had to admit that it probably wasn't all as bad as he'd initially thought it would be.

Grif being here certainly helped, as they were able to hang out again without some dire threat looming over their heads.

In a way, that in and of itself made the whole horribly awkward and out-of-his-element experience worth it to Richard "Dick" Simmons.

He managed to stomach the drinks that, while helping to somewhat lessen aspects of his outward anxiety and to ease the discomfort his cybernetics were putting him through in this environment, still somehow caused the nervous feeling constantly building in his stomach to intensify into threatening-to-puke-territory.

He also put up with Grif making fun at the grimace that came over his face whenever he did drink.

He discovered that he couldn't really stand the taste of alcohol, so Simmons forced himself to drink it in one quick swig that burned all the way down and didn't help his puking sensation at all. More than likely that was the reason why he felt light-headed, and also why he currently wasn't as concerned with his vision trouble.

The Above Grounder was sure that probably meant something, but he wasn't quite sure what currently.

He was trying to just not worry about anything at the moment, really: failing miserably at it a lot of times, but fuck it! He was making the effort, at least.

To a degree it was oddly liberating, though he knew it wouldn't last past the weird haze clouding over his mind. The nagging worries and anxieties were always constantly in the back of his mind, after all.

In the meanwhile, the redhead figured he would try enjoying himself if he could.

Maybe Grif and the others were right in that blowing off steam could be beneficial from time-to-time. Besides, given how no one knew where the whole "peace talk" situation was going, this might be the only chance any of them would get for doing something really reckless for a long while.

Grif was enjoying himself and Simmons still felt horribly guilty over what had happened a year ago, so he really didn't want to see his friend getting upset again anytime soon.

Sheila wanted to just enjoy her time with Lopez, and seeing her being as content as was visibly possible for a robot made him smile.

Doc was having a rather good time as well, along with Grif's younger teammate Donut. Simmons was glad that his friend's first foray into the Slums was actually a lot more pleasant than he'd expected it to be.

Doctor Grey seemed to be amusing herself just fine, while apparently Grif's friend Tucker was getting a kick out of trying to pick up female patrons at the bar despite how horribly most of them reacted to it.

Caboose seemed to be having fun with what appeared to be a rather one-sided conversation with a disinterested-looking Church, though his teammate seemed to be tolerating it more than the cyborg expected him to. Either that or he'd just resigned himself to his fate for the evening. He hoped it wouldn't turn into some blowout later though, given Church's earlier reluctance towards this whole event.

Admittedly, Simmons did feel rather bad for Washington as the Freelancer looked almost as awkward about being here as he felt. But, the blonde had done an admirable job humoring everyone despite having only tagged along at first probably for "babysitting duty" as Church had said. The Freelancer seemed content to simply people watch by himself. He didn't sport the scowl on his face that Church had displayed most of the night, so maybe Washington wasn't as annoyed by the situation as he was just uncomfortable with it. Perhaps if he really decided this was too much for him, he'd just leave later since no sorts of incidents were happening.

So, while a lot of troubling thoughts were looming in the back of his mind for later, Simmons tried enjoying himself as best he could in the meanwhile.

He even tried humoring Doc and Donut when they attempted to get everyone who came to the outing involved in a sing-along, though he quickly stopped and had to say "Shut up, fat-ass!" with a decidedly red face when Grif was unable to contain his laughter.

Surprisingly, Lopez was the only one aside from Doc and Donut who managed to even get through a full song. Simmons had no fucking clue what it was about and his electronic voice made the vocal range rather odd, but Sheila had seemed to think it was lovely.

Mostly though, the redhead stayed close to his friend from the Slums while the tan man drank and inhaled a ton of snacks.

Seriously, watching that did not help his already way-too-queasy stomach any, though Doctor Grey of course apparently found it fascinating on account of how it seemed physically impossible that Grif wouldn't choke given how much food he was ingesting.

Simmons supposed he should just be thankful that she hadn't drawn a snake comparison during her observation of Grif's rather gross eating habits.

They talked about a lot of inane things, as though it was a silent rule that tonight they wouldn't discuss any of the heavier stuff lurking outside of this venture: Simmons commenting on how much of a slob the Resistance fighter was when it came to eating still, and Grif once again poking fun at Simmons' organizational habits in retaliation.

It was an oddly good time, all-in-all.

Eventually though at one point, and totally not at all surprising given how much he'd had to eat and drink since coming there, Grif went off to go the bathroom.

Simmons, having been told in extensive and far too graphic detail what exactly was to be found in the bathroom by Grey and Doc earlier, had already decided he'd take his chances and wait unless he really had to go. The cyborg suspected he would have to use up a lot of sanitizer in order to feel remotely clean again if he even stepped into the men's room here.

Doc came over the second he noticed that Simmons was by himself, brown eyes shining brightly.

"Hey, Simmons," his friend greeted, the smile on his face as polite and warm as always, "Having fun?"

"More than I thought I would, at any rate." He admitted, an awkward smile of his own forming.

The brunette nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly with the action. Simmons noticed that his cheeks were tinged slightly pink, and he knew Doc had been trying a few of the drinks Donut seemed fond of at first out of politeness and then because he had really liked how they tasted despite not normally being fond of alcohol, "That's great to hear! Sometimes things have a way of working out, huh?"

"I suppose so."

Though Simmons suspected he'd probably regret it later on once Doctor Grey's medicine wore off and things returned back to normal, but he couldn't argue with Doc's logic at this point in time, "What about you, Doc? This was partially you're idea, after all. Having a good time?"

"Oh, the best!" The medic had turned his gaze as he was talking to a cheerfully waving young man normally clad in pink. The blonde had apparently broken away to check up on Caboose and an even now more exasperated-looking Church, who had his face buried in his hands at the moment.

The pink in Doc's cheeks had become an even darker tinge, but whether or not he was aware that Simmons could perhaps figure out why that was he didn't say, "Everyone's getting along nicely. It just shows how much in common we really do have."

"You and Donut especially." Simmons observed, only slightly teasing.

The two really did seem to get along very well though, despite having only met recently. It was nice to see in a way, given what was happening currently.

"Yes, well…" Doc tore his eyes away from Donut to look at the ground for a second, and the blush that was on his face definitely wasn't entirely due to how many drinks he had, "He's very friendly."

Knowing it would be rude to pry more given the odd bashfulness that was overcoming his friend, Simmons instead chose to say nothing further on the subject. Simmons was personally used to shyness and embarrassment just fine, but he was never quite sure how to deal with it in others. He never wanted to make it a point of conversation in case they thought he was teasing them over it since he knew well enough how that felt due to all of the bullying he'd gone through.

Instead, the Above Grounder turned his head slightly to check whether Washington had in fact slipped away or not from where he'd last seen him earlier trying to blend into a wall.

Surprisingly, the Freelancer was no longer on his own at all. Rather Tucker was now seated at the table with him, several empty bottles on the surface between them. Evidently Grif's childhood friend had gotten tired of chasing after women and the bodily harm he received in response.

Simmons was honestly not quite sure what to make of that sight.

"Lopez says they are trying to prove masculinity by killing off brain cells." Sheila informed them, having snuck up on her two teammates and catching the direction of Simmons' gaze, "It is an odd notion, don't you think?"

"Y—yeah." He stuttered inadvertently, the robot having caught him off-guard.

It was hard to picture Washington engaging in a drinking contest at all. It had even been a bit of a stretch of the imagination to see him at a bar truthfully, given how closed off the Freelancer tended to be and how many times he'd avoided social gatherings since…whatever had happened to make him become as reserved as he was now.

It was even more of a surprise to see that he also apparently was quite adept at such contests, as the Resistance fighter seemed a bit more wobbly where he was sitting from even this far away while Washington appeared about as composed as always despite the fact that they'd apparently consumed quite a few drinks already.

Freelancers were a freakily strong bunch in all sorts of ways, apparently.

Simmons turned to his robotic teammate after shaking his head, recalling her mention of her compatriot, "Are you two…enjoying yourselves?"

He couldn't really picture robots having much fun in places like the "Randy Offering" given how so much of the enjoyment from these types of establishments seemed to be tied to alcohol consumption.

"Very much so. This is quite different." Sheila sounded genuinely pleased.

Simmons supposed that, for her, just being around Lopez again was probably enough to make her feel content. He smiled slightly at the notion, feeling rather glad for her.

"It's great that everybody's having a fun time!" Doc exclaimed, though Simmons wasn't sure he'd say that Church was necessarily enjoying himself. But, he supposed Doc assumed he was simply because their teammate wasn't yelling at anything currently—one had to take little victories with Leonard Church, after all.

"Doctor Grey is as well." Sheila informed Doc smoothly, "She wanted me to inform you that she found out something interesting about the mold in the right back corner of the building. If you were curious."

"Neat! I'd been tempted to ask one of the bartenders about that earlier, but I didn't want to come across as rude."

His friends wandered off then to go in the direction of the mysterious "mold spot" that was apparently quite fascinating. Given that he was already far too unnerved by the unsanitary conditions of the establishment to begin with, Simmons opted out of that little adventure.

Truthfully, he also just wanted to try to forget that they'd even mentioned mold in the first place. Simply hearing about it was causing the area in his chest cavity to tighten somewhat involuntarily where his lungs used to be.

That really didn't help his viewpoint that the "Randy Offering" was perhaps a death trap on a multitude of potential health and safety points.

"You alone, sweetie?"

Interrupting the mild panic attack he was giving himself thinking about mold were two women. They were slightly older than himself, and looked almost amused at his reaction since he jerked awkwardly to attention after they caught him by surprise.

Both had drinks in their hands and enough jewelry to blind someone if they got all of it at the right angle in light.

The woman who had called him "sweetie" winked at him, and he felt his face go red.

Holy shit, are they flirting with me?

The redhead was drawing a complete blank on what to do in this situation. He got tongue-tied around women on his best days. Women actually talking to him in any capacity beyond idle chatter or orders to begin with was not something he was particularly used to.

Hell, he still had a hard time responding to Agent Carolina at times despite her having been their team's acting CO for quite a while now. It had taken several months and a round of "therapy talk sessions" with Doc for him to be able to converse with both Sheila and C.T. as well as he got to doing.

"Got a name?" The second woman asked, the teeth behind her smile flashing white.

It did not help matters any that they were both quite attractive, and obviously dressed for a fun night out on the town.

He froze completely at the question, his face becoming even warmer. He wasn't even able to get any kind of sound or vague utterance out through his vocal chords, which made him start to panic even more.

He really was going to puke soon.

"Aw, he's a shy one!" The first woman giggled, leaning over into his personal space as if to get a closer look at an utterly fascinating specimen.

Simmons literally squeaked at the movement, backing away a few steps as if she was going to hit him. Yeah, he was totally kicking his brain for having failed him so miserably right now.

The reaction seemed to amuse the woman more than anything.

"No need to be so bashful." She said in a playfully soothing voice, "We'll be gentle."

"Unless you like it rough." Her friend added in, just as teasingly.

He realized with growing dread a few seconds later that she was regarding with an odd sort of fascination the synthetic skin graft that covered the metal plating on the side of his face as she winked conspiratorially at him, "Which maybe you do, huh?"

So now he was being flirted with, teased, and made to feel like a freak all at the same time.

His self-esteem was going to need to be picked up in a body bag at this rate. If he didn't just curl in on himself and die on the spot from embarrassment both at his own actions and what was happening.

"Er…"

"Hey, Simmons," Grif's voice spoke up from behind his two tormentors, "Got you another drink."

The two turned then to stare at the intruder to their fun, looking both curious and rather annoyed all at once.

Dexter Grif smiled back at them innocently, sure enough with two beer bottles in his hands.

"Excuse my friend here, ladies, but he gets flustered real easily." He informed them, motioning back to a completely frozen Simmons, "You might want to back up in case he pukes."

They hightailed it pretty quickly after that, casting a rather disgusted look back at Simmons before leaving.

Simmons' face became a shade of red so deep it almost looked purple, and he really did almost puke from embarrassment. Both relief and frustration waging a very heavy battle inside him at the situation being over.

He took the beer Grif was proffering towards him and redirected his negative feelings towards his friend, largely because it was partially his fault that he felt as bad as he did now given how he chose to get rid of the women (the fat fuck!), "Grif, why the fuck would you tell them that?"

Simmons was now mortified which was causing all sorts of his other anxieties to float to the surface.

All of a sudden the whole outing seemed to have taken on a tone of "Maybe I was right and this was a fucking bad idea after all." and he really didn't want to feel that way given how he'd been having a surprisingly decent time earlier.

Grif regarded him silently for a few moments. It almost seemed as if there was something akin to annoyance flashing in his dark eyes before he responded in an uncaring tone, "You didn't exactly seem to want to be talking to them anyways, so what's the big deal?"

"I'm…I'm just not good at talking to women. You know that." The Above Grounder mumbled lamely in response, shoulders sagging in defeat.

"You wanted them invading your personal space then?" The other man was raising an eyebrow incredulously.

"Of course not!" The redhead blanched at the memory, "They scared the crap out of me."

Grif smiled humorously then, and Simmons was glad to note that whatever negative feeling it seemed the Resistance fighter had gotten stuck on seconds before after he'd "rescued" Simmons had vanished with the cyborg's adamant, and still wholly embarrassing, admission.

Maybe Grif had run into some trouble that had bothered him when he went to the bathroom and just took awhile to get over it. In which case, Simmons really didn't want to know about what it was.

"So, look on the bright side then! They're not going to be bothering you again after that."

"Gee, thanks." He muttered sarcastically in response.

"Anytime, buddy." Grif took a long swig of his beer, and the two fell back into one of their comfortable silences afterwards.

Which was probably for the best, as it helped calm Simmons' nerves a bit following that whole awkward mess of an encounter. He could feel his face start to cool down slightly, which hopefully meant he wouldn't look like a tomato soon.

"You know, it's probably for the best that you can't flirt with women." Grif said conversationally after a few seconds, causing Simmons to look at him questioningly.

The tan man was staring off into the distance, looking thoughtful, "With your crazy cyborg strength, you could probably really hurt someone if you got physical."

He knew that Grif was simply teasing him, but given how self-conscious Simmons was about that aspect of himself, he bristled slightly, "Th—that's not true!"

Grif smirked, looking at his Above Grounder friend with mild amusement, "Please, Simmons. You nearly choked me to death a year ago and I don't even think you realized it."

It was meant to be a joke, Simmons knew. Especially as Grif then went into a ramble on how he supposed super strength wasn't all it was cracked up to be in stories and everything when you thought about it.

It was the type of topic that when they had been younger they probably could have had an endless, pointless debate on and really enjoyed.

But, mentioning the whole hostage situation again along with the casual reveal that during it he had actually very nearly seriously hurt Grif without having even realized it, caused the Above Grounder to suddenly feel more upset than he had felt previously this whole night.

The redhead knew full well that he could do damage with his cybernetics, but he lost track of that more often than he cared to admit when he wasn't in the right frame of mind.

Simmons frowned. Instead of responding to Grif's remarks, he downed the entire bottle of beer the Resistance fighter had just given him in one sitting and promptly wanted another.

---

Author's Notes: I swear…these chapters keep getting larger every time I write a new one. 0_0; This is yet another probably very obvious case of where I cut a chapter roughly in half because I could have just kept on going. Seriously, this part doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon! XD

So to keep this note briefer than normal on account of how long the chapter is, let's just say a lot more interesting things will be happening in the next chapter, many of which will probably have Church wanting to bang his head on wall repeatedly. Poor guy. XD I found parts of this chapter a little difficult to write, so I apologize if any of it comes across as awkward or hard to read.

Still, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you very much for reading it! :D