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.}

15. Chapter 15

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 Fifteen:

Freaky kickass Freelancer skills or no, he was so going to kill Carolina for this.

Seriously. He should not have to be putting up with so much bullshit in one sitting. Human beings were only meant to tolerate so much!

Leonard Church sighed, having long since tried tuning out most of the wanting-to-hit-a-goddamned-wall-with-his-skull shenanigans going on around him.

His main goal now was to try to get it all to fade into an incoherent, blurry background noise he could readily just ignore as one looming massive headache.

Unfortunately, that's what he'd been attempting to do. It seemed as if life had other plans: this entire fucking set-up was proving just way too difficult to completely block out.

By now, it was pretty obvious that there was nothing going on in the "Randy Offering" (who the fuck named this place anyway?) in an underhanded someone-is-going-to-use-this-stupid-outing-as-a-cover-to-kill-you kind of way.

Which meant that his having been forced to go to the stupid thing because of both his apparently secretly sadistic cousin and asshole teammates was nothing other than a pointless waste of time.

Speaking of that too, he really still wanted to know what Carolina was thinking by telling him to look after his team. It wasn't like he would be able to shoot anyone if they pulled something.

The most he could do was probably get shot first and then hope that the attackers would trip over his body in an attempt to get to everyone else. Yeah, really fucking awesome protection right there.

Whatever was happening involving the Council's actions, it sure as fuck wasn't happening in a dive bar. Apparently his group blended in well enough that no one even questioned if they were or weren't Slums residents to begin with.

Made sense, he supposed, as it wasn't like they were in armor save for Sheila.

With her and Lopez's mannerisms, it was pretty obvious they weren't human and people tended to avoid them out of fear of some robot uprising or whatever—he never really paid much attention to why.

It wasn't like any of the Above Grounders were flashing big signs that read "We're from that place you guys fucking hate. Come shoot us!"

As far as anyone who wasn't in the know was concerned, the Above Ground delegation probably wasn't ever going to leave Level One.

No real worries there about potential unruly mobs or hate crimes unless one of his teammates said or did something infinitely stupider than usual.

He glanced over at Doc on occasion just to make sure, but nope! He was just having fun with that Donut kid.

There was always the chance that the Resistance fighters could blab to the wrong people about who the Above Grounders were, but this group of them seemed relatively on good behavior too.

So, really, Church didn't have to fucking be here at all anymore. A part of him was oh-so-tempted just to go "Fuck it, I'm done with all of you assholes." and just up and leave.

Especially since everyone else seemed to have more or less split off to do their own things, and fucking Washington had tagged along besides. Which still annoyed him, by the way.

Yeah, maybe all he could have done was be a bitchy human shield if something had gone down, but he could handle things on his own.

He sure as fuck didn't need a Freelancer agent who there were a lot of rumors about and who even Carolina seemed hesitant towards at times making sarcastic and overly judge-y remarks about crap he did.

His cousin tried keeping them out of the general loop with the remnant of Project Freelancer, but Church could tell that her trust for her remaining teammates was pretty nonexistent at this point given whatever had happened that she still refused to tell him about during when…she and the others had left and Carolina had been in the hospital for a while.

Besides, even badass Freelancer guy didn't seem to think this situation was all that dire anymore either.

Hell, he was pretty sure Washington and Tucker were now trying to out-drink each other into a coma, which was at least kind of amusing to watch.

Potentially embarrassing things happening to other people generally were.

The Above Grounder did find himself wondering how the fuck Tucker seemed to be able to get underneath Washington's skin though considering how overly guarded and paranoid the Freelancer agent was.

Maybe there was more to the Resistance asshole than met the eye, or he was just so idiotic with what he said and did that he managed to catch even Washington off-guard.

Whatever the case, the end result of their little drinking contest would no doubt probably be one of the few entertaining highlights to be had here.

Case in point, Church was pretty sure he had seen Doc and Donut actually frolicking past his line of vision a few times since Donut had stopped by earlier to check on him and Caboose.

He couldn't remember what was said then, just that it was a cheerful dialogue between two Resistance friends that really didn't seem to make much sense at all and that he would interject random groans into every so often when he'd been asked something.

Church found that he liked the pink soldier fine in small doses, but the perkiness and weird sayings could get out of hand very quickly—particularly when combined with Caboose.

He remembered having mentioned to Sheila way before this fucking thing even happened that a large amount of booze would probably be necessary to get him through the night.

The only thing that really kept him from making true on that word was just that he didn't feel too thirsty at the moment.

Also, there was the fact that Doctor Grey was watching him like a hawk with anticipation gleaming in her dark eyes. It was as if she was waiting to analyze either a potential explosive fit of anger or him getting drunk out of his gourd.

Her seemingly manic attention kind of just made him want to keep seated.

He supposed it made sense that his medic teammate and the friendly guy who arranged this whole thing would hit it off so well, given their mannerisms and how neither of them seemed to have an ounce of common sense when it came to pretty much anything.

Though if they ended up going the same route as Sheila and Lopez's "hitting it off well" had, Church was pretty sure he was going to have to fucking shoot himself.

Dealing with what would essentially equate to a romance from a musical number happening right before his eyes on top of that was just too fucking much for his brain at the moment.

The two robots were still off chatting in their own little corner about the odd human behaviors they were witnessing in this bar while fucking holding hands the entire time

Robot and cyborg love affairs were more than he wanted to deal with ever.

Speaking of the cyborg love affair, Grif and Simmons were still practically glued to each other whenever Church happened to look their way. With an all sorts of very awkward-looking and red-faced Simmons downing alcohol like no tomorrow.

The Above Grounder's eye twitched at that. He was starting to have a very strong suspicion that his nerd teammate wasn't even going to make it back to Level One tonight.

Yeah, he could definitely use a break from all of the couple drama going on around him. Seriously, what the fuck was up with everyone on his team?

It was a hell of a lot of unnecessary drama, if you asked him.

A small, inner voice tried arguing that he probably shouldn't be judging them too harshly given how his relationship with Tex had gone and the lingering feelings there he really never wanted to even dwell on.

He was not fucking disappointed she had more brains than he did and somehow got out of this nightmare for any other reason other than that misery loves company, goddamn it!

Church promptly told that inner voice to shove it just as he had all of the other times it had annoyingly popped up over the years, complete with a very clear mental image of him giving it the finger too.

Scariest things here beyond the prospect of getting unwillingly involved in all sorts of myriad love affairs (seriously, fighting the urge to bang his head on a table at just the thought of that happening), or having to turn over Tucker or Simmons so that they didn't drown in their own vomit after passing out (well, that's what served the assholes right for drinking like goddamned fish in the first place!), were probably Doctor Grey and Caboose.

Screw Washington's big-bad-Freelancer vibes scaring potential threats off, Church had a feeling the good doctor that had forced herself on them for this get-together could have the same effect all on her own with a cheery smile.

All it would really take would be one of her trademark exclamations of glee when it came to the prospect of slicing someone open to see what makes them tick if they somehow managed to piss her off.

Most of the "Randy Offering" patrons were already giving Doctor Grey a wide berth because of her swabs and black light escapades.

It was not at all shocking that his team seemed to be more or less accepting of her in spite of that. Simmons did seem at least a little off-put by some of her actions at least, though that could also just be due to his weird issues when it came to talking to women in general—he was still trying to be polite in his nerd way.

Kind of the story of Church's life, really.

He could just imagine both Sheila and Doc in particular inviting the crazy lady out to tea when they were back home, which sort of terrified him.

As for Caboose…well, the large kid was more or less scary in his own way because he apparently actually liked hanging out with Church. Even when the Above Grounder was in a worse-than-normal-for-him mood.

Even Church knew he probably wouldn't be able to stand being in his own presence for more than five minutes without wanting to deck himself.

He was well-aware he was an asshole a lot of the time, he just didn't really give a flying fuck.

So, it was more than just a little unnerving when he met people who could tolerate him for extended periods of time, even if the only reason they perhaps could was because they had a very loose grip on reality.

In fact, beyond just being able to tolerate him, Caboose seemed to genuinely like Church.

He honestly wasn't sure what it was about him personally that Caboose liked, but knowing that made Church feel almost bad for the Resistance fighter.

Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn't left yet despite the ever growing temptation to do so with each passing second.

Caboose was still emphatically talking about something or other.

Despite whatever ounces of common sense and sanity he still had left, the Above Grounder just didn't have the heart to up and leave in the middle of his table partner's rambling.

Though he was only going to give it five more minutes if the younger man kept going on about what he'd had for breakfast.

"Tucker always says not to talk to him if he hasn't had his coffee yet, but I don't really like coffee." The large blonde was saying, nodding his head sagely, "I like juice."

"Uh-huh."

I don't really fucking care.

"Orange juice is the best." Caboose finished his breakfast beverage topic of choice with a sip of the soda he had been given by his teammate earlier.

Perhaps very wisely, Tucker had ensured Caboose would only be getting non-alcoholic drinks at the start of this whole weird mess.

Church wasn't sure he ever wanted to see what the young man was like actually drunk.

When Church didn't even really bother responding to this last statement, Caboose apparently decided it was finally time to move on to another subject. Thankfully too since Church was pretty sure he had been talking about food for hours now.

Or at least it sure as hell had felt like from where he was sitting.

Quite frankly, the Above Grounder didn't have incredibly strong opinions on that topic at all one way or the other, so he could have fucking cared less. Church hardly ever remembered what he ate normally or even when.

"This place is very loud. And dark." The blonde made a slight face, crinkling his nose somewhat, "Some spots in here smell like that toilet someone else who wasn't me broke and never cleaned. Probably Tucker."

Well, at least the Resistance fighter finally landed on a subject Church could actually tolerate.

"Yeah, it's called being a dive." He told him, voice even harsher than normal in his effort to get it to carry due to the loud music in the background, "I'm guessing that's because when someone stays here for more than ten minutes they often want to then dive off a fucking cliff."

Caboose looked at him with a blank expression, blue eyes oddly serious, "That would not end well."

"No, buddy, it really wouldn't." Church looked down at the glass in Caboose's hand, a look of distaste crossing over his features, "I'm shocked you're touching that, let alone drinking from it."

"Because it is un-saintly?" He looked, naturally, confused.

"Unsanitary." Church's grimace grew, "If you're going to copy big words from people like Doctor Grey remember to get them right."

Though after a moment of thinking back on what he'd probably meant to say, the Above Grounder nodded his head slightly in surprised affirmation, "But, yeah, actually, you got the context down pretty well that time."

Caboose's childlike face lit up at the praise, "Oh, I am very good at paying attention!" He informed Church, "That is how I found Freckles when he was hiding before!"

Church wondered how a giant assault droid could possibly even begin to "hide" anywhere. Though in hindsight, he supposed it wasn't that far of a stretch given how the damn thing had snuck up on him, Simmons, and Sheila a year ago.

Perhaps it had some kind of stealth program in its wiring.

"That's how I met Kimball too!" Caboose recalled with a smile on his face and a nod again to himself, "I'd been walking for days, getting kind of sad and lonely, when I heard voices and then I met her! She's a nice lady."

"Walking?"

Despite his inner vow of not ever really giving too much of a fuck about other people's personal lives since he had enough bullshit to deal with in his own without having someone else's to think about, Church was almost borderline curious about how the Resistance fighter had worded that last part, "You mean like in the tunnels or something?"

It was weird to think of someone just letting Caboose wander out of the Slums if he had family there.

Maybe he'd gotten lost or something and hadn't been able to recall his way back. Accidentally stumbling upon the Resistance in the process.

Then again, if he did have relatives living down here, who in their right minds would let Caboose join a goddamned army given his disposition in the first place?

The blonde nodded, seemingly even more eager to talk now that it seemed like Church was actually attempting to engage in conversation as he'd been more than willing to just talk for the both of them already, "It was fun at first when they put me down here. Like a game of hide-and-don't seek!"

Caboose frowned following that though, blue eyes darkening in a way that seemed at drastic odds with his usual absentminded behavior as he continued, "But then I got hungry and cold…and it wasn't really fun anymore."

Shit. The conversation was going in a direction he hadn't expected it to at all.

Church shifted uncomfortably in his seat, really wanting to kick himself for having asked for any kind of elaboration.

Nothing fucking good ever happened when he actually asked people about their personal lives. That was probably a sign from the universe that he should just stick to focusing on himself if ever there was one.

"Hey, Church?" Caboose asked, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the bar and looking lost in thought. It was an odd expression on the Resistance fighter.

He sighed reluctantly, "Yeah?"

"It wasn't really fun at first either." The blonde confessed, looking almost guilty for having admitted it, "There was a lot of dragging and yelling."

"I…figured." He couldn't really think of what else to say to that because, despite how vague Caboose's talk on the topic was, Church was starting to get a far too clear picture in his head of what had actually happened back then.

It was far from pleasant.

"But I don't mind that it happened now!" The younger man added, perhaps to both reassure himself of that fact still after recalling a darker period in his life and because he had noticed that Church seemed discomforted, "Kimball is a nice lady, and there are lots of other nice people here too."

"That's great, Caboose."

Well, at least his abandonment down here in the tunnels had perhaps arguably turned out for the best for Caboose in the long run.

Church had heard about how sometimes Above Ground citizens were forced into the tunnels below and blocked entry back to the surface if they had committed some kind of crime or if they were deemed unfit in some capacity.

Or, also highly likely, someone else just didn't want them around for some reason.

This was the first time he'd actually met someone who would be classified as a "Throwaway" though.

The whole thing basically just reiterated what he already knew about the people he worked for being assholes.

"Oh, and I wouldn't have met any of you guys if I wasn't here, Church!"

He couldn't help raising a black eyebrow at this, nodding somewhat in agreement, "Yeah, I guess we wouldn't have run in the same social circles."

"Yeah. The guys I used to hang out with were really popular." Caboose leaned over to stage whisper conspiratorially, "I don't think you would have been allowed to sit with them."

He decided to ignore that for once and not remind Caboose that the people he knew in Above Ground were probably some of the very same people who had dumped the blonde down here, on account of how Caboose had just told him something that was uncomfortably close to lucid for him.

It had inadvertently made Church feel things in the process.

So instead, he simply said, "Probably not."

"There were some fun times up there too." Caboose continued nostalgically, "Like when they threw things and I had to learn to dodge them."

Oh, shit. This was almost getting way too sad.

Caboose frowned, "But mostly they were mean." He turned then to stare at Church in admiration, "Not nice like you, Church!"

Church sighed, "Caboose, I can barely tolerate you and I get called a fucking dick by random people every day." He glared at nothing in particular at the recollection, "Bunch of assholes."

"I could see that."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes slightly at that statement, especially since Caboose didn't seem to even mean it as an insult, "So what the fuck makes you think I'm actually nice?"

The black haired man was more or less simply curious now, and wanting to see if it would even be remotely possible for him to follow the blonde's thought process.

If he even had one, that is.

"Oh, that's just you being you!" Caboose scoffed as if the answer should have been completely obvious, "Like Freckles or Agent Washingtub."

Okay. So there was definitely no thought process then.

He raised an eyebrow and informed the younger man, "One of those guys you mentioned is an asshole who could probably kill you in a matter of seconds if he wanted and the other is a giant killer robot. How is it that they're nice again?"

"I can tell!" Caboose grinned, "Even the mean lady isn't so mean. Though she is scary a lot of the time."

Church sighed, pretty certain he'd never get a straight answer from Caboose. Maybe he just had a sixth sense about people or was just a really crappy judge of character.

Given how he'd been talking to Church of all people for the past several hours, the former was probably the most likely answer.

He was somewhat curious about the person Caboose had mentioned just before though, "Mean lady?" Church asked, brow furrowing, "You mean Tex?"

A nod, "She helped me bring Freckles back!"

Church was almost, almost tempted to ask about his crazy ex-girlfriend then, but he kept his mouth shut. Besides, he wasn't sure Caboose could actually give him much accurate information on what she was up to.

For one thing, his whole story about Tucker having met up with an alien at some point and giving birth to a vampire dog-baby was way too hard to swallow, though he did believe that Caboose thought pregnancy was some kind of disease someone could catch.

He was almost tempted to buy the younger man a picture book on that subject when he heard that while not at all liking all these fucking goddamned feelings bullshit he was going through.

Church supposed that if Caboose told him something like Tex had fought a dragon barehanded and won—well, it wouldn't exactly be a large stretch of the imagination beyond the dragon part.

Perhaps there was some truth to fiction at times.

He finally settled on a question in that vein that hopefully wouldn't give him as horribly a ridiculous an answer that he'd need to try to muddle through on his own, "Does she actually get along with you guys okay? She used to have issues with some of her teammates in Above Ground."

Yeah, in fact he was fairly certain that the only ones who Tex hadn't had some kind of major altercation with while she was at Freelancer were either dead now or they had defected too.

Save Washington perhaps, as Church seemed to recall him having been one of the few Freelancers that most in the project tended to get along with.

Washington had had a very different, more easygoing personality at the start of the whole thing. At least up until whatever weird ass top secret shit he didn't want to even fucking know about apparently fucked the guy over and caused him to become a rather big asshole with socialization problems from Church's viewpoint.

Which, again, was saying something given the Above Grounder's own general disposition.

Caboose nodded in response to his question, "She did not like Tucker or Grif at first, but now she doesn't punch them nearly as much!" He grinned, "They've become such good friends!"

"Yeah, that sounds like it." He muttered sarcastically.

The Above Grounder's self-proclaimed "best friend" took a sip of his soda again and looked thoughtful, as if remembering something now that the topic of Tex had been breached, "She's outside."

"What?" Church's eyes widened at that, surprised.

"No one else even knows! She told me it was a game you guys used to play." He frowned, "I didn't get it, and then I just forgot until now."

"She's here?"

Jesus Christ, she had been here the entire fucking time?

"Yeah, she said you would want to be surprised." Caboose had gotten over his earlier confusion over the whole "game" episode and was smiling, "I love surprises too! We are so best friends!"

Despite himself, Church was already running to the door—not caring at all about what the fuck happened with any of the drama going on with the other people there.

Or about the looks he was no doubt getting from the people inside the "Randy Offering" for bolting up as he had done.

The door opened to the outside, flashing colors from that tacky ass sign bathing the alleyway in front of him.

Simply standing there as if it was the most fucking natural ass thing in the world was Tex, back in her full armor again save for the black helmet she was carrying in her hands.

It appeared as if she had been peering at the darkened windows. Her eyesight was always pretty damn good, he remembered, so she probably could make out what was going on in the bar even while most people would struggle to do so.

It also seemed like she had been in the process of getting ready to put her helmet on and walk away.

"Tex!"

Figures. That had always seemed to be their dynamic: she was always one foot out of any door by the time he was even about to say or do anything.

A lot of chasing and yelling, he recalled. The moments where they could just stop had always been few and far between.

Church was not going to say that he missed them or considered those rare instances "precious" or some other bullshit. He didn't do that sentimental crap.

He did recall that they were probably some of the only times that he hadn't thought sucked as much though. Before the shouting and fighting happened again, naturally.

"Tumultuous" didn't even begin to fucking describe it.

She raised an eyebrow at his outburst in mild amusement, lips quirking upwards a fraction.

"Took you long enough to find out I was here, asshole."

"Yeah, well, Caboose doesn't exactly have the best memory when it comes to recalling his own name probably. Much less what other people are doing." He rolled his eyes, suddenly wondering why he'd bothered running to get here so quickly, "You could've just come in with those morons if you've been here the whole time." To which he added under his breath, "Dumb bitch."

"I wasn't here to socialize, Church." Her dark eyes narrowed slightly and she motioned with one of her hands in a gesture that encompassed her armor, "Why do you think I'm dressed like this?"

It wasn't too hard to figure out, "You're on patrol?"

"Good boy." She nodded, curt and precise.

The Above Grounder really didn't appreciate the mocking tone when he'd actually answered her fucking question correctly, but he frowned in confusion at what she was apparently actually doing and what she had told Caboose earlier about "games" and "surprises."

The kid might not have the best memory, but those were two very specific things.

Church knew Caboose hadn't just come up with those words himself during his odd way of interpreting what happened around him—he'd most likely been told them, "Why come here at all then?"

The redhead sighed and motioned for him to follow her, "Quit blocking the door like an idiot."

"Don't tell me what to do!" He shouted back reactively, though he stepped away from the small set of stairs leading up to the bar's entrance all the same.

Probably for the best, considering a group of people brushed past him only moments later to get inside.

She regarded him with even more obvious amusement, and he groaned in annoyance, "Shut up, I just fucking felt like doing that. Being near that place is enough to make me want to vomit."

"I saw. You looked like you were having fun." While her smirk was still a rather small one, the grin was way too annoyingly apparent in her tone of voice.

"Yeah, it's been the highlight of this whole goddamned trip so far." With that sarcastic remark, they had moved to stand in a slight side-alley between the bar and one of the neighboring buildings so as to not block any comings and goings from the club.

He glared at her: "Don't try to change the fucking subject."

"It's no big deal." She shrugged as she told him, "I was out patrolling this area. I figured I'd make sure nothing happened to you idiots. Just in case."

He was surprised at that revelation, as it clearly wasn't just a reference to the Resistance fighters who were now her comrades, "Us too?"

"You never know, Church." She said cryptically, and he remembered how cautious she could be when it came to differing scenarios.

Tex could basically bulldoze her way through any challenge, but she prepped for them all the same. It kind of made her even more terrifyingly capable.

Instead of touching on her showing consideration for a group of people who by all accounts should be considered enemies since he wasn't sure she'd want that topic being broached (and he really didn't want to get beaten over the head anytime soon), Church simply stated, "Nothing's happening here beyond me getting bored out of my goddamned mind and wanting to shoot everybody."

"I figured." Which was probably why she'd been ready to leave when he'd come out just then, he realized. She glanced at him though after his last statement, remarking, "You never were one for socializing, after all."

"That's because people fucking suck." He stated pointedly, rolling his eyes at that statement coming from her considering her general outlook towards people, "Like you should be fucking judging anyone on their socializing skills."

Yeah. He was fairly certain an individual kicking someone into the ground for making one tiny, sarcastic remark about how said individual threw a tank through the air once wasn't exactly the sign of a people person.

She shrugged again, looking oddly contemplative, "Wasn't judging, Church. I was just recalling."

It had been a really long time since they had last talked, hadn't it?

The defection certainly hadn't helped any given the different locations, not to mention the differing sides of a war that it put them in.

Even in the rare instances since then when they had somehow ended up meeting again, it was almost as if Tex didn't really want to spend too much time with him at all.

This was actually the longest conversation they'd had in practically forever, and it fell into that same easy rhythm for them again with the mocking and playing off of one another.

It almost fucking hurt.

Church was tempted to ask if she was purposefully avoiding him for some reason, but had a feeling he wouldn't get a straight answer even if he did.

Tex was way too stubborn if she didn't want to talk about something.

Asking a question like that could be interpreted as him implying that she was actually afraid of something, which would inadvertently most likely mean a hospital trip for him.

It seemed a lot of things were always left unsaid between them.

So, instead, he changed subjects completely, "It couldn't have taken you that long to figure out that nothing but my sanity was in danger tonight. Why did you stick around so long?"

The former Freelancer frowned then, and he honestly wasn't sure what to make of the gesture. Instinctively, he backed up a step just in case she decided to start swinging.

Not that it would really do much.

Finally, she simply sighed, "Maybe I was hanging around hoping you would have come running out screaming earlier. All right?"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know you were out here?" Church countered, his annoyance growing, "You should have just come inside like a goddamned normal person."

Or fucking talked to me earlier, damn it!

"I didn't think you'd have the patience to stay in there that long." She honestly almost sounded impressed that he'd proven her wrong.

He scoffed, feeling slightly triumphant that he'd beaten out her initial assessment of his patience, "Yeah, well, I had to make sure nothing happened in there either." He stood up slightly straighter, "Some of those assholes are my teammates, you know. Even if they do suck."

She gave him an assessing look following that comment, "I know." She said, again with that oddly impressed quality to her voice, "You've changed, Church."

He frowned, "Not really. I'm still pretty much an asshole."

"You'd be surprised." She spoke in such a low voice that Church wondered if she had even meant for him to hear that comment.

The dark-haired man honestly had no idea what she was implying with it, which caused his frown to deepen as his confusion grew.

Before he could ask her to elaborate on what she meant though, Tex said thoughtfully, "I probably just stuck around longer because I wanted that image of you stuck in my head."

He regarded her incredulously, "You mean the one of me cursing my life and wanting to bang my head against a wall to make the nightmare finally end?"

A slight smile was on her face, "Maybe."

Church responded to that with the first thing that came to mind, oddly enough feeling his mouth start to curve upwards slightly too, "You're fucking weird, Tex."

Her smile had turned into her customary smirk, "Same to you, cock bite."

It was a bizarre conversation to say the least: Church had no idea what Tex was going on about, but there was something oddly genuine in her sentiment there. He couldn't help but feel slightly glad for that.

They were both often angry, surly people who apparently considered hurling insults at each other part of the courtship process. They rarely talked about how they actually felt. That was probably one of the reasons as to why their past together was such a confusing yoyo of a mess.

Maybe if Tex was talking like this more, he could finally figure out why things had ended the way they had.

Or why she had left in the first place.

He hadn't even gotten so much as a note, and then all of the weird shit had happened involving Project Freelancer and Captain Flowers being killed in action. At around that time he was informed by random people that his once again ex-girlfriend had also been one of the defected Freelancer agents.

Even Church felt like maybe he needed some answers as to why she had decided to do what she did, despite his reluctance to really know much else about anything involving the hidden side of things at the Mother of Invention.

There was a side to Allison he had never really known, a wall he'd only ever gotten glimpses past. Somehow, it had always felt like getting over said wall could perhaps help him see some unknown aspect of his own self too.

Yet that idea also scared the shit out of Church (he was fucking awesome just as he was, damn it!), so he had never really wanted to explore it.

He'd always more or less just accepted whenever they ended up going their separate ways in the past, being secretly grateful when they would hook up again later.

With Allison, he was always bracing for the inevitable walking away later.

This time had been different though, perhaps because the separation seemed so much more permanent given what was happening. It made Church look at things he would have probably just accepted in the past.

He just wasn't sure of how much he really wanted to know. Or if asking would make even an interaction like this become impossible.

Tex seemed to be perhaps thinking similarly, because she suddenly flexed her shoulders and changed tact.

"I take it Carolina is in the tunnels?" She asked, an odd note going into her tone at mentioning his cousin.

He shrugged, both grateful and disappointed for the topic change all at once, "You'd know better than me, probably. She hasn't exactly clued me in on what she's been doing."

Tex frowned and said nothing at that.

He wondered what was going on in her head. Neither of the two women got along rather well with one another, though Church had the theory that a lot of Tex's animosity towards Carolina seemed to be more reactionary to Carolina's own views than any kind of actual vehemence.

He had a feeling if he asked her about it she wouldn't give him a straight answer though. Both she and Carolina really did have a lot in fucking common.

Again, he really wasn't dumb enough to ever say that out loud to them though.

"Have a theory?" She asked, regarding him thoughtfully.

Since he saw no point in denying it, the black-haired soldier said, "She wants to figure out what the Council's really up to with these sham peace talks."

Tex nodded, her frown deepening. He couldn't tell if it was because of the mention of the peace talks again, or what possibly having Carolina snooping around might mean for her and the other Freelancer defectors in particular given the already tense scenario.

He grimaced, "You're not going to fucking fight her again, are you?"

Her response was immediate, and quite level, "Not unless she fights me first."

Not exactly the assurance he'd been looking for. Especially since both of them knew that if Carolina caught wind of Tex at any point, regardless of her goals in figuring out what the Council was really up to, the leader of the Freelancers probably wouldn't hesitate to try to settle the score with Agent Texas.

She always seemed to lose her cool-headedness when it came to Tex.

Church sighed in defeat, "She's not involved in this bullshit, you know."

"I know." Tex regarded him with a look that seemed almost sympathetic, and he wondered if she wasn't looking that way not only because of him but perhaps because of Carolina as well, "I'll…keep that in mind if I run into her."

"Well, if you could just avoid hitting her with a tank that would be great." He knew it was impossible to really stop either of them from fighting if it came to that, just as it seemed it was impossible for either soldier to fill him in on anything that they were getting involved in.

Fucking Freelancers, ex-Freelancers, and their goddamned secrets.

"No promises." She smirked.

He rolled his eyes, "Well that figures."

The redhead turned to leave then, her helmet sealing into place with a hiss.

She stared at him for a moment more from underneath the visor, "Next time we're both near a bar, let's have a drink."

"Because I'm such a fucking fan of the ambiance?" He shot back sarcastically.

"That's an added perk, yeah." And he totally knew she was smirking just then, damn it!

Oddly enough, though, the idea didn't seem too horrible to him.

"Why not?" He gave a smirk of his own, "Couldn't be any fucking worse than hanging out with these assholes for hours on end."

"I'm pretty sure they say the same about you."

She always did have to get the last word in. Church supposed he should just be glad it wasn't being followed with a kick to the head this time.

"Probably." He muttered, just before she disappeared from sight through the confusing alleyways that led to this location (because, damn it, he liked getting in the last word too!).

The Above Grounder stood out there for a little longer before finally forcing whatever remained of his inner strength and patience, of which he'd admittedly never had much of, to reluctantly return to the bar.

By the time he'd managed to drag himself through the door of the "Randy Offering," it looked as if the group of event goers had gotten somewhat smaller.

Perhaps he'd been out with Tex a little longer than he'd thought. He forgot how he'd lose track of time when with her, which was pretty much the exact opposite of most interactions he had with other people, honestly.

More than likely some of them had even gone right past them through the very same entry door he'd just come through, and he hadn't even noticed due to the conversation they'd been having in the side-alley at the time.

"Church! Hey, Church!" Caboose exclaimed, still in the seat he'd been in when Church had left, waving at him excitedly, "You're back!"

Surprisingly, the blonde Resistance fighter was sitting with Doctor Grey now, of all people. The dark-skinned woman had apparently decided to take a break from scaring the crap out of patrons with her experiments, and was instead sipping a drink of her own leisurely with some kind of disinfectant wipe in her lap.

He tried to avoid making eye contact with her or showing that he'd seen that, just in case the doctor decided to explain why she needed it. She smiled happily at him at Caboose's exclamation.

"Did you and Tex have a good talk?" Caboose inquired as he got closer, "I bet it was about puppies! Everyone loves puppies."

"Yeah, we talked." Church nodded his head to the younger man, letting out an oddly sincere, "Thanks, Caboose."

"It's always nice when friends talk." Caboose nodded profoundly, "Especially when they haven't seen each other in forever."

For once, that sentiment didn't sound all that outlandish considering who said it, "I guess so."

"Like you and me, Church!"

Church chose to ignore that last happy remark entirely, glancing around the bar instead. He could not see a certain lazy fat-ass or a rambling, red-faced nerd at all.

Or a cranky Freelancer who decided to play the role of babysitter when it was completely unnecessary, or a loud asshole who had kept getting drinks poured on his head all night for that matter.

There were also no background noises of old Earth pop songs being sung off-key and not at all fitting for the music of this place either.

"We're missing a few idiots now, huh?"

Sheila and Lopez, apparently noticing his reentry, joined them at the table just as Church asked the question.

"Simmons went with Grif to apparently visit a spot he had been fond of from a past trip to the Slums." His friend informed him in her polite voice.

"Of course he fucking did." Church tried not to eye-twitch at the sight of the two robots holding hands.

"I suggested that Tucker go home before he collapsed from alcohol poisoning." Doctor Grey said in a sing-song voice, "Agent Washington agreed to help him get back."

She leaned forward conspiratorially, eyes gleaming before adding, "I give them twenty minutes before he passes out in a gutter or vomits."

"¿Está tomando el dinero en eso?" {"Are you taking money on that?"}

Well, that fucking figured too.

Church was almost tempted to try some of those relaxation techniques Doc had showed him once in order to keep himself from really losing it.

"Hey, guys!"

Donut's cheerful voice rang out just then and everyone turned to stare as he and Doc approached from wherever it was that they'd been hiding at beforehand.

There was a rather obvious red mark darkening on the side of Donut's neck just underneath his chin that Church really wished he didn't recognize. The very crimson blush suffusing Doc's face underneath his glasses gave away even more details as to what had happened there.

The medic was grinning sheepishly under the regard, looking very happy regardless. While Donut was smiling as usual with what seemed to be even more of a bounce to his step than before.

The two were holding hands much in the same way that Sheila and Lopez were.

That was the point when Church really started to eye-twitch and had to seriously resist the urge to bang his head against something.

The future prospect of having drinks with Tex was looking better and better.

---

"Man, you really do suck!"

Washington raised an eyebrow at the rather slurred statement directed at him by a very wobbly-looking Slums dweller.

"How is that exactly?" He asked, more out of the growing sense of mild amusement he was feeling than anything else.

Tucker groaned and glared at him, though the action was more comical than amusing given how the other man seemed to be struggling to stay on his feet as they walked.

"You could have fucking told me you could drink like a goddamned fish!" He started, still clearly sore about losing the whole "drinking contest" thing.

The Resistance fighter continued muttering something under his breath that sounded something along the lines of how it wasn't fair that someone as uptight as Washington could out-drink people either, although the Freelancer didn't hear it clearly enough to get what was actually said.

This caused Washington to smirk somewhat though, "I think you're just mad you lost."

"Oh, fuck off!" The usually teal-wearing fighter tried flipping Washington off, the motion causing him to stumble somewhat.

Washington resisted the urge to grab Tucker's shoulder to steady him, unsure of whether or not the action would be perceived well and quite certain the temptation to even do so had more than a little bit to do with the warm giddy feelings soaking up his brain currently.

He wasn't nearly as drunk as Tucker was following their impromptu contest at the bar, but the blonde knew he was at least slightly buzzed all the same.

Tucker somehow managed, with a bit more control than Washington would usually credit to anyone who was in such an inebriated state, to keep himself standing upright despite the stumble.

All the while still trying to give Washington a death stare that was far more comical than it was intimidating.

"Is there anything you Freelancers can't fucking do?" He asked in an annoyed huff, still on the subject of the outcome of their match.

There were several things that came to mind, actually.

Trusting perhaps being one of the top things on the list, but Washington wasn't about to tell an almost stranger that.

Instead, while Tucker's sore losing was an entertaining distraction in a lot of ways, Washington felt enough pity for the wounded pride of the younger man that he decided to throw him a bone.

Besides, it was also a pretty easy way to deflect from the more serious responses to that particular question.

"If it's any consolation, you actually did better than most of the Freelancers I have had drinking contests with."

Tucker snorted in disbelief.

"I'm serious." Washington smiled slightly, oddly nostalgic, "Just ask York. You managed to beat his best record by five drinks. You haven't even thrown up yet either."

That had been a fun night.

It had been one of the rare occasions when York had actually managed to convince Carolina to go out with them for a night on the town, only to be bested by the rookie Freelancer member in a drinking contest he thought would have been a sure win.

No one really knew how much alcohol Washington could tolerate beyond C.T., and she generally would use that knowledge to earn some pretty decent betting money she'd split with him later.

York had puked all over their leader's shoes about two seconds after his loss too.

Even with York's replacing-Washington's-shampoo-with-hair-dye retaliation prank the next day, it had been worth it.

Sufficed to say, Carolina never was that keen on attending group outings at bars or clubs again. Though she apparently did go out a few times with just York once he swore he wasn't going to do anything dumb like that again.

His trip down memory lane was cut short with the sudden realization that Tucker was suddenly a lot closer inside his personal space than he had been moments before, a scrutinizing look in his dark eyes as he seemed to be taking in Washington's face.

The blonde blinked, fighting down the urge to back away and react defensively to the surprising intrusion.

He must be even drunker than he realized if he had been caught that much unawares in his reminiscing by a guy who wasn't even being all that subtle in his mannerisms at the moment.

"Dude, do you always look like that when you recall stuff?" Tucker finally asked, thankfully apparently noting the discomfort forming on the Freelancer's face at his proximity and pulling back to the distance he'd been standing at before.

Washington's eyes narrowed, wondering if Tucker was going to make some ill-conceived joke again, "Like what?"

"Like someone just kicked a basket of puppies and then threw them at you."

The Freelancer couldn't help but frown at that particular imagery, "I do not—"

"York, North, and C.T. get similar looks when they're talking about stuff sometimes." Tucker cut in, though his voice was more quiet and thoughtful than Washington would have expected, "Tex looks even madder, which I wouldn't have thought was even fucking possible if I didn't see it myself."

Realizing then that Tucker hadn't been trying to make fun of him previously, Washington sighed, "It didn't turn out to be what any of us thought it would be, Tucker."

That was a colossal understatement in every sense of the term.

By the assessing look crossing over his acquaintance's face, Washington had a sneaking suspicion that the Resistance fighter knew it too.

Tucker seemed oddly observant at times despite his immaturity in a lot of instances and how obviously drunk he was currently.

"So why are you staying with it then?" The younger man asked finally, a surprisingly serious and more than just a little confused look settling on his features.

The question gave Washington pause. He wasn't even quite sure he had heard it right, "What?"

"If you know the people you're working for are assholes, why stay?" Tucker rephrased it, "Why not defect like the others did?"

Well, that was certainly a loaded question.

It was also one he had asked himself far too many times than he'd ever care to admit.

Washington had been left behind, yes, back when he had been a broken shell following a tortured being's suicide attempt inside his mind.

It had taken him several months afterwards to try to even begin to come to terms with the massive scope of the betrayal he had been very much forced to realize and experience from both sides.

Washington and his teammates. They had unknowingly betrayed and used and torn.

In a very real way their actions symbolized the all-too literal and constant tearing apart and betrayal experienced by him too.

The truth was, Washington could have left easily enough once he had been released from the hospital.

Yet he had chosen not to. He'd chosen to play the part of the good little traumatized soldier and never reveal the true extent of what he knew.

Everything.

Epsilon was memory personified, twisted up with his own. Lifetimes fragmented and then crammed back into a far too small container for all of them.

He had even agreed to become a spy for Chairman Hargrove, a man he knew now could arguably rival, and potentially out shadow, the Director in terms of the scopes of his ambition.

And for what?

True freedom, Washington always reasoned. The chance to not only escape from Project Freelancer but to expose every ugly, horrible secret it had ever held.

If he managed to do that, maybe then some of the nightmares would stop.

Maybe then he would not always be trying to push everyone away.

It was, admittedly, getting harder and harder to justify that decision given what Hargrove was ordering and allowing to happen in terms of the situation with the Slums. As well as what he ordered to be done in response to some of the unease growing within the general Above Ground populace with recent policy changes.

Truthfully, Washington doubted that the Council member would have cared much if Wyoming had actually managed to kill him a year ago.

He'd simply try to find another pawn to use in a similar capacity.

But now? Now Washington needed to see for himself where all of his own decisions and everything else were going.

Finally, because he could not very well say any of that to Tucker, the Freelancer settled instead on, "It's…complicated."

Tucker scoffed, looking at him disbelievingly, but Washington rolled his eyes and changed tact to get him to stop dwelling on it.

"Just drop it and lead the way back to wherever I can see you off from. Okay, Tucker?"

Tucker frowned and muttered something under his breath about "pushy assholes." He seemed to mutter even more than usual when he was drunk, Washington noticed.

The Resistance fighter glanced around them blearily all the same as if he was trying to recall exactly where they were so that he could figure out where they needed to head next

Tucker had performed admirably, there was no doubt about that.

He'd been able to stay toe-to-toe with Washington despite having already had a quite a few beers in him from before, along with an assortment of other drinks that had literally been dumped on top of his head by the myriad number of women he had failed to woo.

Washington supposed the only reason he didn't reek in that regard was because of the often fruitier components of those beverages.

He had clearly just not been prepared for Washington's ability to tolerate large amounts of alcohol. Doctor Grey finally dropped by their table after witnessing Tucker stubbornly attempting to do so well past his limit to announce in a surprisingly no-nonsense voice that the contest was finished "because Tucker looked well on his way to drinking himself into a coma any second."

Her voice even picked up slightly at the mention of a coma, and Washington couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at that oddly placed mirth.

Despite some grumbling protests, more from Tucker than himself really, Doctor Grey somehow managed to get the dark-skinned Resistance fighter to call it a night.

Washington did grumble a bit more himself though at her insistence that he personally see the younger man home on account of the whole thing at least partially being his fault.

"He's liable to pass out and hit his head on something!" She had reasoned, looking almost amused at the prospect, "Given what he said about how you guys met do you really want to be blamed for another concussion?"

It was more that comment from her that had led to them being where they were now than anything else, as Washington didn't really want Tucker trying to punch him out again if they ever happened to meet a next time.

Doubtful, but you never know with things like that.

The doctor did lose some argumentative clout for asking if Washington could give a good recount later on if Tucker passing out did end up happening for something she was calling her "intoxication file" though.

Besides, the Freelancer had been about to call it a night before the whole drinking contest matter had even occurred.

He was fairly certain now that this event was just a loud gathering of very eccentric people, and that nothing was going to happen as a result of it that could affect anything from a military or diplomatic stance.

Washington could get Tucker as close to wherever the Resistance base entrance was located as possible. He knew he wouldn't be allowed anywhere near it from a security stance.

Even as drunk as Tucker was, he had already stated that quite emphatically himself. The Above Grounder understood and respected that.

So long as Tucker assured him once they reached the mining tunnels from this level that he could stumble the rest of the way himself, he'd consider his forced upon him responsibility over with. Then he'd get back to Level One just in case things changed with his standby orders or the peace talks.

Of course, things rarely ever went that easy for Washington in actual practice. Which was a point that was proved in this instance as well mere seconds later.

Tucker, still frowning and squinting as if doing so would cause the drab area around them to yield up information or clues it apparently hadn't been doing before, finally declared: "I have no idea where the fuck we are."

Naturally. It would have been too damn easy otherwise.

"Are you sure?" Washington asked despite knowing how futile his question was, hoping maybe that the last few moments since he'd said that had helped to orient the Resistance fighter more.

"I'm pretty fucking sure!" Tucker snapped back testily, apparently just as annoyed by the reveal as Washington was.

"But you're from here, aren't you?" He questioned.

"Dude, do you have any idea how huge the Slums are?" Tucker was giving the freckled Freelancer an incredulous look to rival Washington's own, "People who were born here and live to be one hundred haven't even seen all of it."

Washington said nothing, knowing the truth behind that statement.

He had seen the schematics countless times for the ever-evolving layouts of the Slums and its multiple levels, as well as the adjacent mining tunnels that wove around it in all directions.

He knew how big they were in scale and that was nothing compared to having finally seen parts of them in person.

He supposed it would make sense that even a native Slums resident as alcohol-addled as Tucker was at the moment could get lost in them.

"I'd never been to this part of Level Four before tonight either." The other man was saying, looking rather distressed himself as he recalled that bit of information, "We got lost a few times along the way even."

As did their group, now that Washington was thinking on it. It had certainly been a rather remote and tricky-to-find location for a get-together.

"Perfect." The Freelancer let out a sigh, trying to come up with some new strategy.

Finally, he asked, "Do you have a place of residence that's not located at the base?"

Tucker gave him a blank look, "Why can't you just say 'house' like a normal person?"

Washington ignored that, though his eyebrow still twitched slightly in annoyance, "Would that be easier to find if it wasn't connected to the tunnels?"

"If it was on one of the levels closer to this one, probably." Tucker was swaying a bit on his feet now, "But my 'place of residence,'" and here Washington did roll his eyes given how obvious it was that Tucker was mocking his choice of words, "is in Low Town."

"Which is the lowest level, right?" The blonde recalled having heard that term before from briefings.

"Yeah, it is." Tucker's voice was oddly devoid of emotion, his expression taking on a neutral quality.

Washington also knew it was far from the ideal place to live down here.

A part of him was almost curious enough to ask Tucker about it, but there was a strange look in the Slums resident's eyes following that last comment. Something about it told the Freelancer not to press the topic anymore.

Since he didn't care for when people tried asking him about things he didn't want to elaborate on, he decided to respect that for others.

Maybe having an Above Grounder like himself, especially one in the military, knowing that much about his home made Tucker feel understandably uneasy.

Washington stared at Tucker, starting to suspect that Doctor Grey's suspicions about Tucker likely passing out soon were true given how unsteady he was looking at the moment just standing there, "There's no way you could probably get all the way down there in your current state." He deduced from what Tucker had been saying earlier.

"Oh, fuck you, man!" Tucker gave him the finger again and almost did fall this time.

Washington grabbed his arm then in order to help steady the younger man. Beyond a second of pulling when his inebriated mind hadn't quite figured out what Washington had been trying to do, Tucker relaxed and almost leaned into the Freelancer—looking decidedly drowsy all of a sudden.

The Resistance fighter probably wouldn't have made it ten steps into the mining tunnels even if he had recalled the way before he passed out, Washington realized.

This is just great.

With a resigned sigh, Washington tugged on the arm he was gripping, "Come on, Tucker, there's no point in standing around here."

Tucker must have been really drunk because beyond unfocusedly glaring at Washington for a few seconds, he allowed himself to be dragged down the corridors by the older man without much complaint or resistance.

"Where are we going?" He finally asked a little while later, when the walking apparently started helping to somewhat wake up his brain.

"I think I can get us back to the hotel." Washington informed him, decidedly not mentioning how the Above Ground group had also gotten lost finding that horribly named bar and so he wasn't quite as confident in that statement as he'd generally like to be.

Still, Washington was not going to go back and have Church mock him for getting lost. If he could even find his way back now to the "Randy Offering" to begin with.

Level Four was a maze of clustered, nondescript buildings in its back alleyways and he wasn't quite sure where they were exactly in that mess when Tucker's many drinks had completely caught up to his brain moments before.

At least he knew the transports to the differing areas were usually located to the sides of levels.

Theoretically, he could just try getting to a transport to make it back to the hotel. That was really the only plan he had at the moment.

"On Level One?"

There was something odd about Tucker's voice when he spoke, a hesitancy Washington wouldn't have pictured coming from the vicarious Slums dweller before.

"Yes, Tucker," he said, raising his eyebrow incredulously at the question, "Is there another one I'm not familiar with?"

Thinking it was just Tucker trying to play some strange joke on him as it would be right up his alley to do something like that while drunk given his maturity levels in general, Washington kept moving. He took it as a good sign that a turn down the next corridor looked at least vaguely familiar to him.

But, just as suddenly, it felt as if he was gripping onto what amounted to dead weight as Tucker stopped moving altogether, effectively anchoring himself to the ground.

The older man frowned and turned around in exasperation.

He was suspecting based on past interactions that the only reason Tucker had stopped was just to joke again about "hand-holding" or something equally ridiculous, which currently he wasn't too keen on doing.

He was not expecting the Resistance fighter's pleading, almost ashen look that was crossing over his features.

"Tucker?" Washington was surprised by how alarmed that expression on someone else's face could still make him feel.

"I can't." The dark-skinned man was starting to shake his head emphatically, wide-eyed and suddenly a lot more energetic than he had been moments before, "I can't go there!"

No point in showing just how uneasy this turn of events was making the Freelancer: when talking someone off of a ledge, you needed to appear peaceful and calm yourself.

Instead, Washington cocked his head to the side slightly and tried a rather poor attempt at a joke, "It's not an ideal situation for me either, but it beats passing out on the street."

Tucker said nothing.

The blonde found both the lack of a snappy comeback and the way the younger man was now trying to yank his arm free extremely disconcerting.

"Tucker, what's wrong?" Washington asked quickly, not even really registering that his own grip had tightened considerably around Tucker's arm in order to prevent any escape that he'd reason later was due more to the bizarreness of the situation and not really knowing what to make of it: "No one's going to try anything there to disrupt the peace talks. It would be pointless."

"It's bad enough having to go there for the fucking day. I am not sleeping there!" The Slums resident was emphatic, and his commentary made for some clarification about recent events in Washington's brain.

Yes, Tucker had been pissed at him before for what had happened a year ago, but he'd also seemed tenser and more stressed out than even that had warranted.

Similar in a way to how he had lashed out at Washington a year ago when he'd seen him with Caboose and North before knowing all the facts due to the hectic nature of the siege then.

Washington had equated that stress to the talks in general, as that seemed to have been causing everyone to go on edge. But, now he was beginning to think it was much more than that.

It did not take him a moment longer to make an educated guess as to what the source of the Resistance fighter's unease about that particular Slums level could potentially be.

"This has something to do with the Level One Incident, doesn't it?" The older man asked quietly, not really sure if he wanted to know the answer or not.

The question caused a sudden sharpness to enter into Tucker's eyes. He practically hissed out, "Don't fucking call it an 'incident.' It was a massacre."

Washington winced apologetically though he wasn't sure what to say, having not meant any offense but knowing why it was taken all the same given what had happened. "Sorry, poor wording." didn't seem like it would cut it.

He had simply used the word out of habit and memory. That was how the attack had always been referred to in reports in Above Ground: to lessen the impact of what had truly occurred there in the populace's eyes.

"I lost my mom then." Tucker was muttering more to himself really than to the Above Grounder, speaking the words hollowly, "A few other people too."

"Tucker…" Washington stopped then, not sure how to continue. Any words he would say would be horribly ineffective, after all.

Especially considering the people he was working for.

"She picked one hell of a time to go visit friends, huh?" He let out a sharp laugh, but the sound held no mirth.

It was the kind of laugh someone did whenever not laughing would just mean an inarticulate outburst of pain and loss.

Just like that, Washington had an all too clear image in his mind as to why a younger Tucker had ended up joining the Resistance in the first place.

Probably around the same time that Washington's own life had been in the process of collapsing around him and he had very nearly lost who he was completely, Tucker had experienced his own trauma that had led him to drastically alter the course of his life.

Washington wasn't sure how to process it, exactly. It was more information than he had ever cared to know about any of the people who lived down here.

Makes it all the more difficult, and how.

His grip on Tucker's arm loosened, but didn't dissipate completely. His hand moved down subconsciously towards the other man's wrist as if to grip his hand tightly.

He wasn't sure why that urge always seemed to happen, exactly.

He had done it a couple of times before too: in the tunnels a year ago, and in response to when Tucker had tried punching him earlier after the first round of peace talks.

The Freelancer usually only ever really thought on it after the fact, and by then he just tried pushing the whole odd impulse from his mind completely.

Similar to when it had happened a year ago though, the action was not lost on Tucker.

He raised an eyebrow, the repeated action apparently enough to snap him out of his earlier temporary panic, "Dude. What is with you and the hand-holding?"

"Shut up." Washington felt his cheeks become flushed even more than what could be equated to the slight buzz he still had from the alcohol.

He dropped his hand awkwardly to his side while making a mental note to himself that if Tucker did fall anytime in the near future he would not try to prevent it next time.

"You really should buy someone a drink first." Tucker was back into full teasing mode, it seemed.

"Didn't I just do that?" He raised an eyebrow in amusement and smirked slightly, oddly relieved in a way that the absurd direction this conversation had gone in helped to dissipate the heavy atmosphere of before, "You didn't pay for any of those last beers."

The Resistance fighter shrugged dismissively, "Winner pays."

That made no sense. At all.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's the opposite."

"Whatever, you still paid for them." Tucker grinned and gave a suggestive, playful wink, "Not only did you do that, but you're trying to hold hands and get me into bed."

Washington groaned, not quite sure he liked the new teasing direction this conversation was going in anymore, "I will leave your ass here."

"Oh, lighten up, Wash." The dark-skinned man was outright laughing now, "If we're going to be hanging out together you've got to learn to take jokes better."

Washington was almost tempted to ask what would possibly make Tucker think that they would be hanging out more, though he figured that was most likely the influence of the alcohol in the face of the odd personal revelations.

Something else Tucker said did catch his attention though.

"'Wash'?"

"Yeah, that's you." When Washington continued staring at him blankly, he elaborated further, "Washington is too fucking long to say all the time, so I shortened it."

"You're giving me a nickname." He stated flatly.

"Kind of? I mean, I thought I had heard North call you that once too." He shrugged and then frowned, looking at Washington's neutral expression with what almost seemed like worry, "But if it's some weird Freelancer-only thing, I'll drop it."

Washington shook his head, not quite sure what to make of the odd tingling feeling in his stomach. Perhaps he was more inebriated than he thought and was going to get sick soon enough. Not a pleasant notion at all.

"It's fine." The blonde assured him, "There just aren't too many people who call me that anymore."

He could have said that in a way he still considered "Wash" to be a throwback from before things had gotten so twisted.

A nickname that he'd always felt was more to solidify his status as "kid brother" of the team and how it bothered him sometimes now when it was used by those teammates and former teammates because of the memories it would inadvertently dredge up.

He could have said it, but he didn't.

Coming from Tucker, a person who had no way of knowing any of that and who had apparently just decided to start calling him it on the spot? The nickname didn't really trouble Washington in the slightest.

Oddly enough, quite the opposite. It felt sort of nice.

Especially since the Slums resident wasn't attaching a label like "cute" to it in the same way Doctor Grey had when she'd overheard Carolina using it before.

Strange how that worked.

A small part of him (the tipsy part, most likely) wondered if Tucker had thought of calling him that before and just had never done so out loud until now.

Not that it really mattered in the grand scheme of things.

"Well good then." Tucker seemed almost relieved at the assurance, regarding Washington in amusement a second later, "Unless you want to give me your real name."

His response was fairly immediate, "I do not."

"Then Wash it is!" He grinned, but not in a teasing way this time. It was a genuine smile, the expression looking rather nice on Tucker's face when he wasn't being over-the-top ridiculous.

They stood in silence for a few awkward-but-not-wholly-unpleasant moments following that, before Washington decided it was time enough to discuss the topic that was still at hand.

"So, what do we do now if Level One is out?"

Perhaps Tucker had sobered enough due to the fluctuations in the conversation to recall where exactly they were and what direction he needed to go.

Or they could go back to the "Randy Offering" to get proper directions, and Washington would just have to face what would no doubt be Church's smug gloating over the Freelancer who insisted on coming along to keep them out of trouble getting lost.

If Grif, Donut, or Lopez were still there and ready to leave, they could hopefully get Tucker back safely instead. Washington wasn't counting Caboose in the equation, as he had the feeling Caboose would need help getting back to base too.

Tucker closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remaining still for such a long while that Washington was nearly afraid he may have passed out on his feet. Only the fact that he was remaining staunchly upright indicated otherwise.

When the dark-skinned man opened his brown eyes again, there was a spark of determination in their depths.

"You know what? I can't stand the fucking place now, but that sucks because it's still a part of my home." There was an angry, emphatic tone to his voice as he spoke, "I am not going to let those Council assholes have the satisfaction of me getting even more upset on account of them wanting to play their stupid games."

He turned to look Washington straight in the eye then, "Lead the way, Wash."

"You sure?" Washington was both concerned and strangely impressed by Tucker's resolve.

"Hell, yeah! This will be my personal way of telling them to fuck off with all of their bullshit."

That sounded even more like the Tucker he was acquainted with. The Above Grounder couldn't help but smile slightly in response to that sentiment.

Tucker grinned defiantly, though the expression morphed on his face as his features turned decidedly green-tinged, "Might end up puking in front of that damn conference room too." He admitted, a slight grimace starting to form on his face.

"That would show them." Washington's voice had a wry, but still rather impressed, quality to it.

The Resistance fighter responded to that by giving him the finger once more, before promptly bending over to suddenly and rather violently empty the contents of his stomach out on the street.

Thankfully, he did it on the opposite side of where his acquaintance was standing.

When he was done heaving, the sick expression that had formed on his face pretty much matched Washington's perfectly. Tucker groaned when he realized that and glared at the blonde.

"Never fucking doing that with you again. Ever." He muttered.

"Likewise." Washington managed to overcome his own wave of nausea at the sight and smiled in teasing amusement, "Though it was rather fun at the time."

Tucker rolled his eyes but handled the cajoling with his usual self-assured aplomb, "Well, I do live to entertain."

He followed Washington more sedately after that, the previous episodes apparently draining most of his energy and leaving Tucker groggier in general.

Puking as he had certainly hadn't helped the Slums dweller's energy levels either.

Tucker didn't even make any teasing remarks or commentary when Washington, apparently completely forgetting his earlier mental promise not to do so, grabbed his arm to keep him from stumbling face first to the ground as they got into the jostling, more-rickety-moving-than-he-liked transport that carried passengers up to the newer levels of the Slums.

Washington was convinced more than a few times during the ride that Tucker would be having a repeat of his sick episode inside the transport.

A sentiment the handful of other passengers also seemed to share as they cast worried glances at the man whenever he groaned or grimaced.

Someone getting sick in an enclosed space was never ideal, though thankfully it never came to that as apparently most of what Tucker had consumed was now safely decorating a spot on Level Four.

When the two finally got to Level One after that trying ordeal, Washington noticed Tucker tensing visibly. The arm he was still holding onto went rigid.

There weren't as many people up and about at this time of night, but it was still a pretty decent sized number to maneuver through. There never seemed to be a ton of space in the Slums, Washington noticed, unless people just completely vacated an area for whatever reason.

A lot of people were waiting now for transports to the lower levels in order to leave Level One once their business was done with simply because the Above Ground presence there was making them edgy.

He knew there weren't a lot of transports to jump onto if the level you wanted to go to wasn't within five levels of the one you were on, which seemed to be what some of the people were grumbling about as they waited. The knowledge was more of a tactical afterthought than anything he was really concerned with at the moment.

"It's David." The Above Grounder suddenly blurted out, the impromptu statement catching even himself off-guard as they made their way through the groups of people cluttered about the transport waiting area.

"Huh?" Tucker looked at him blearily, the statement causing him to momentarily forget his stress.

"My name." He said in way of a rather to-the-point explanation.

"Oh." He blinked before what Washington had said seemed to really sink in, then he stated, "Mine's Lavernius."

Despite how strange and awkward this whole snippet of conversation was, Washington continued, "I don't really use it anymore."

Not since the Director had given him his new name, at least. Not since "David" represented a life he didn't really have any longer.

"I don't really use mine either." Tucker sounded rather amused by the coincidence.

This was probably the only time they would even acknowledge those first names at all in their conversations.

Especially given the likelihood of their not seeing each other again beyond possibly if fighting escalated with Above Ground and the Resistance later.

Still, Washington supposed it was nice knowing Tucker's first name in a strange sort of way. Of having someone not associated with Above Ground or his past knowing it despite that.

Not to mention, his random "sharing impulse" moment seemed to get Tucker to be rather calm as they approached the hotel.

Diverting attention could be beneficial at times when it came to troubling emotions and thoughts. The Freelancer knew that well enough from his own experiences.

Surprisingly, there was hardly any issue at all as the two made their way up to his room.

He figured there wouldn't be given the circumstances, but Washington also knew to always be prepared just to avoid any unnecessary surprises later.

The guards on duty were respectful of him and perhaps more than just a little intimidated due to his Freelancer status.

Enough to apparently not question his actions directly, though he did get a few raised eyebrows at his choice of company. He chose to ignore them for the moment.

Tucker apparently was astute enough to stay quiet given the situation.

That or he really was about to pass out at any second given how wobbly he was on his feet as they rode the elevator up and went through the hallway.

The light turned on in Washington's room automatically as the door closed behind them.

The room itself was a sparsely decorated single bedroom, nice enough looking in a utilitarian sort of way. There was a fairly decent sized couch off to the side, facing a wall terminal and a coffee table.

The Above Grounder indicated the direction of the couch with a slight incline of his head, "You can pass out there if you want."

Tucker frowned, "I can't have the bed?"

Washington rolled his eyes at the whiny tone in the man's voice, complete with what he thought was Tucker's attempt at puppy dog eyes.

They looked more comical than anything else really given his drunken state.

"I will kick you outside."

Apparently giving up on getting the bed, Tucker sighed and walked over to the couch. He froze in front of it though, turning to Washington with a look that was one part amusement and one part confusion, "Um, dude?"

Washington glanced over, swearing under his breath at what Tucker was looking at.

"Shit."

The blonde had brought along some extra artillery and had been inventorying it earlier that day, having totally forgotten about it until just this moment.

Most of it was still resting in open containers on the couch and table, as he'd been in a bit of a hurry to catch up to Simmons and the others before they'd left

He had found out about the whole get-together thing much later on, so the Freelancer hadn't had time to fully prepare his room before he left. Church refused to wait for yet another tag-along seeing as how he'd just wanted to get the whole thing over and done with.

Tucker was looking down at the assortment of grenades and guns with a raised eyebrow, "So, where am I supposed to sleep again?"

"Oh! Um. Just move some of that." Washington said, feeling just as sheepish and embarrassed as he had whenever he made mistakes during his earlier Freelancer missions (that was an odd nostalgic punch he hadn't been expecting), "I'll get it all put away in a minute. Just try not to…jostle…things too much."

He'd actually tripped on a grenade once. Even with his armor on, that had not been a fun experience.

Tucker was muttering something under his breath about "scary ass Freelancers" and "probably should be more worried about this somehow" as Washington slipped into the bathroom.

He needed a few seconds to himself, just to process what he was doing.

It never crossed his mind before to invite someone to his room, even if it was just to sleep on the couch.

Washington wasn't all that trusting of most people anymore, and he didn't want to freak any one out if he had one of his nightmares and woke up screaming and thrashing.

Plus, his connections to Hargrove meant he needed a bit more privacy in general in order to avoid someone potentially getting a hold of his messages somehow.

Those were all major reasons as to why he had requested his own room in the first place, why he hadn't thought nearly as much as he clearly should have about leaving weapons out like that

In hindsight, it was a foolish thing to do even with the space being secure. He'd have to be more careful in the future.

The Freelancer was here for a job, not to be a glorified babysitter or make friends with potential enemies.

He shouldn't have cared in the first place if something had happened to anyone in Florida's squad if it didn't directly involve him.

He shouldn't have cared if Tucker passed out in the street, and he sure as hell shouldn't have gotten involved in a damn drinking contest with the guy!

Yet, despite knowing that, he had done all those things.

He was still concerned about Simmons and the others, even a bit about Doctor Grey despite not having known her as long and her eccentric behavior.

He was concerned enough about Tucker to the point where he had even told the Resistance fighter his actual name.

Washington was risking a whole lot more with his actions than he cared to admit to himself.

It was all stupid, foolish, and pointless in the grand scheme of things, but…

The blonde sighed. His mind refused to provide any clear answers or solutions. It just trailed off disappointingly.

Hopefully, he'd be able to get back on track tomorrow when his mind was clearer. Right now, he felt slightly light-headed (a reminder that the whole drinking contest was his fault, really).

Washington had to focus on what was important to him, after all.

He had come this far already.

Letting out another tired sigh, the Above Grounder went back out into the hotel room proper.

He should check on Tucker and make sure he didn't need to use the restroom before he clonked out completely for the night if he could.

Hopefully, the younger man could avoid puking anywhere other than in the toilet in the hotel room.

Washington wondered if Tucker was a little disappointed that he hadn't managed to get sick in front of the conference room like he'd talked about earlier, trying to fight the urge to smile slightly at the prospect.

The Freelancer's own fuzzy-tinged brain was slower to react than he would care to admit, but eventually it did process two very important things about the sight before him.

The first was that Tucker had apparently decided it was too much effort to remove weaponry that could potentially blow him up from the couch.

Instead he had opted to fall asleep on the only bed, much to Washington's annoyance given his earlier comments.

The Slums dweller looked peaceful in his stupor despite his hesitancy in coming here earlier, no doubt due to his inebriation making him pass out more or less.

Tucker's chest was more toned and fit than Washington would have expected for some reason, the muscles there rising and falling evenly.

Which led to the second, slower-to-form realization Washington had as his gaze inadvertently traveled down all the way to well-toned calve muscles.

His face grew incredibly hot when he truly recognized what he was seeing.

"For the love of—" Washington started to exclaim as he quickly averted his eyes before changing his tone to be more direct, "Tucker, wake up and put your clothes back on!"

---

It didn't really surprise Grif that Simmons wanted to leave the get-together earlier than a lot of the others did.

What had shocked him more was that the socially awkward redhead had chosen to stay for as long as he had given his obvious discomfort. Bars were clearly not the Above Grounder's thing at all.

He had naturally appeared ill at ease throughout most of the night as a result, even if he had perhaps enjoyed the whole idea of not having to deal with the stress of the weird-ass peace talk situation for at least a little while.

At least in the beginning, Simmons seemed to get over that uncomfortable nervousness just by distracting himself with conversations on silly, more mundane topics with either Grif or someone else.

But, the cyborg had been acting more than a little awkward and odd after Grif had helped to get rid of the two women who had been trying to flirt with him.

That whole situation in particular had made Grif more than just a little mad, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Maybe it was just because of how upset Simmons had been over the whole thing in the first place. Hell, Grif could tell that even before he'd gotten close.

Given that, it had actually annoyed the Resistance fighter even more when the dumb nerd yelled at him for scaring the unwelcome flirts off.

Simmons' alcohol intake increased dramatically quite a bit following the whole exchange, with any joking remark from Grif afterwards causing the Above Grounder to just drink more.

So, it hadn't really been that much of a shock when a pink-faced Simmons had said he was going to probably leave.

At first, Grif had thought to complain about the announcement since he hadn't quite worked up a buzz yet. He totally would have complained loudly to either Donut or Tucker if one of them had said it.

More than likely, he knew Tucker would do the same since that was kind of the give-and-take-understanding their friendship had.

Donut would probably just try to cajole him into calling it a night too through some vicarious song and dance number until he agreed to go simply to keep a hold of whatever remained of his sanity.

But, this was Simmons. What were the odds that they would meet up again like this at all? So, Grif found that he couldn't even voice his usual lazy protests.

Besides, when Simmons had announced that he was probably going to go for the night, he'd shifted nervously on his rather unsteady-looking feet and refused to look Grif in the eye.

There was an almost pleading tone in his friend's voice that seemed rather pathetically hopeful that maybe Grif would tag along as well though, so the tan-skinned man sighed reluctantly and decided to call it a night too.

Tucker and Freelancer guy had already left, apparently. Which was not at all that surprising considering how drunk Tucker had gotten the last time he had seen him.

Another valuable lesson in how both contests and actively participating in things were far less superior options to just relaxing and taking it easy: drinking challenges took the relaxation out of casual drinking.

That had to be some kind of irony right there even if he still didn't know exactly what the word meant.

According to Caboose, even before that Church had run out of the bar to meet up with the "mean lady" who had apparently been keeping an eye on them for a while this night.

At least Tex hadn't gone into the bar.

Grif imagined that after the first time some poor soul attempted to buy her a drink they'd be paying everyone's bar tabs for life, just to make up for the damage to the crappy furnishings.

Donut assured Grif that he could get Caboose back to base safely enough on his own, which he believed largely because his annoyingly cheerful and quirky pink-clothed teammate was surprisingly dependable when it came to looking out for others.

Donut had more patience for Caboose than even Tucker did at times despite how long they'd both been on the same team together. He also seemed quite sober and lucid still despite his little party shindig being at a bar.

Come to think of it, Grif was fairly certain he'd never seen Donut get drunk before even on the few rare occasions when they would drink together in their off-hours. It was like the younger man's own bizarre super-power in a way.

He could have done without the dirty blonde's knowing smile and kind remark that he hoped things went well tonight though.

It was a bit tamer than his usual commentary for sure, and nicer worded than the jokes Tucker and Kai would make about his and Simmons' "relationship," but the implication there was still pretty damn obvious.

Though that was nothing compared to his teammate's last request for the night to see if Grif could get Simmons to tell him some of Doc's favorite foods for some kind of "farewell basket" ("I already know he loves nuts!"), as if the tan-skinned man did that for him he would owe Grif for life.

This was all asked with a blushing glance over at the medic in question while he was talking to Simmons and Sheila about something, most likely Simmons' decision to leave earlier. Knowing the nerd, he probably wanted to inform his teammates about it first.

Hell, even Grif was doing it and he wasn't nearly as anal about that sort of thing as Simmons was.

Grif didn't bother checking in with Lopez, given how it seemed very likely the robot would be staying as long as he could to converse with Sheila still.

He wondered in an amused way how Sarge would react to hearing that his robot creation was continuing his dalliance with "the enemy" after tonight.

Though he figured that somehow their crazy C.O. would end up blaming it on him, saying his friendship with Simmons was clearly a "destructive influence" on everyone which would be admittedly less amusing.

Besides, Lopez was more than capable of handling himself and for some reason he never seemed to get lost.

It was like he always knew the quickest routes to get to places when he wasn't traveling with other people.

By the time Simmons had apparently finished informing his two teammates that he was leaving early, his face was even redder than it had been after his last couple of drinks.

It made Grif wonder if perhaps he wasn't the only one who dealt with teasing teammates on a daily basis.

Beyond perhaps Church, who just seemed to be stuck on a perpetual "asshole mode" for most social interactions from what Grif had seen, he imagined any joking by the politer Doc and Sheila was probably rather mild at best and perhaps even unintentional.

He was almost tempted to ask about what had been said given Simmons' blush, but held back.

If it was in any way remotely like the teasing he got about his friendship with Simmons from Kai and Tucker, the Slums dweller didn't really want to make things even more awkward for Simmons in terms of their interactions.

Grif knew that bringing it up at all would most likely make Simmons even more self-conscious and avoidant given how he usually reacted to things.

"Do you…want to go to your prime napping spot for awhile?" Simmons asked rather hesitantly as they walked through the myriad of confusing corridors and back alleys of Level Four, fidgeting awkwardly and not quite able to look at Grif directly.

Grif raised an eyebrow at the odd request, which was one of the last ones he'd ever expect to hear from Simmons at this time of night.

"I thought you were afraid of heights." He pointed out.

"I—I like the view now." Simmons' face was red again, both from a combination of his usual embarrassment at being reminded of his personal flaws and from the drinks he had before, "B—besides, I didn't get to see what it looked like during the night phase."

It had been a pretty awesome sight, Grif recalled personally, though he had only ever been up in the rafters above Level One a few times himself in the later hours.

The cavern lights dimmed to simulate nighttime on a planet's surface, and lights twinkled far below as if you were gazing down at the pictures he had seen of a starry sky in reverse when he was a kid.

It looked completely altered from how it did during the day: the darkened shapes of buildings and the faint illumination of street and window lights transforming Level One into a seemingly different place entirely.

The Resistance fighter had always wondered how it would compare to seeing the actual night sky above you, no matter how high up you were.

But, thinking of that view now caused an all-too familiar tightening in his throat, and not just for the practical safety reasons going up there on the ladders at this time of night would probably violate.

"I—I don't think that's a good idea, Simmons." He grinned, hoping that the expression didn't look as forced as it felt, "You nearly died going up the ladder during the day last time, remember?"

"I have night vision now though," he motioned to his artificial red eye, and an almost self-deprecating smile formed thinly on his lips, "And I don't sweat nearly as much anymore even when I am nervous, so gripping the rungs shouldn't be a problem."

Well, Grif supposed those were perhaps two of the perks to be had with getting cybernetic enhancements beyond just being stronger.

Truthfully, given how prone he was to sweating all the time he was rather envious of that last one in particular.

The tan-skinned man was actually rather curious about what other things Simmons was able to do (or couldn't) now as a result of his decision to become a cyborg, but it wasn't really the time to ask.

Who knew when he would actually be able to broach that subject given how uncomfortable it being brought up by others seemed to be for Simmons.

It was better to focus on the topic at hand, anyways.

"But, I don't have night vision and I sweat more than enough for the both of us." Grif reasoned, really hoping he could get Simmons to drop the subject soon as his heart was starting to speed up, "Besides, we're both drunk. One of us a lot more than the other."

He gave a pointed look to Simmons following that last sentence. Hell, the redhead was probably only bringing up the rafters now because alcohol was clouding his judgment!

Simmons frowned, looking as though he was preparing to argue more.

Grif had forgotten how annoyingly stubborn Simmons was when he chose to be!

The Slums resident beat him to it though: "Trying to climb onto an extremely high walkway while fucking drunk is not the smartest thing in the world to attempt, Simmons."

It was a really messed up situation when Grif was the one using logic and reasoning in an argument.

He had his own concepts of logic, sure. But, generally speaking, they usually weren't what many would equate to universal concepts of logic a lot of the time. It was odd to be on the other side of the spectrum.

His friend's shoulders sagged in disappointment, but apparently the appeal to common sense and safety protocols swayed him.

A huge wave of relief flooded over Grif.

He exhaled the breath he hadn't really been aware he had been holding while he had waited for Simmons' response, though he was mildly curious as to why Simmons' views on heights had changed so much from when they had been younger.

It had taken a whole lot of cajoling on Grif's part to even get the other male to climb up to the roof of the cavern before, after all.

Perhaps it had simply been a nostalgic urging brought on by being in the Slums and the alcohol in the cyborg's system, since that was the last place they'd gone together before he left during Simmons' teenage Slums excursion.

Simmons still had a look on his face as if someone had just told him he couldn't make an organized list of things he needed to do for the entire week, which Grif was fairly certain happened to the redhead a lot and probably bummed him out all the time regardless.

The Resistance fighter felt like he needed to say something, so he added in a confiding tone, "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't been up there in years either."

Grif didn't say why that was: that the thought of going up there made him want to vomit and potentially pass out. That he could still imagine being up there with the smoke rising while hearing people down below screaming, knowing he was trapped without being able to go or do anything.

That going up there would only remind him how there was nothing but what was below. That there was no way for him to escape from that reality: it had just been a childish, foolish notion he'd had as a kid that he had held on to for way too long.

In a way, that all just scared the shit out of him.

"You loved it up there, though." Simmons' voice was quiet, almost sad even.

Grif wondered if his reasoning was written on his face regardless of having never spoken of it.

He shrugged in response, trying to appear nonchalant, "They didn't allow anyone up there following—" Grif paused then, seeing Simmons' flinch in recognition of the event he didn't feel quite like referencing by any kind of name (shit, even talking about it now made him feel awkward!), "Well, you know."

Simmons said nothing, choosing to stare at the ground instead.

Grif continued talking, hoping that maybe he could just get them moving past this topic already for both of their sakes, "Things happened so quickly after that, I just never had the time."

It was a partial truth, really.

He had joined the Resistance shortly afterwards, and that had woefully hindered his ability to nap anywhere he would have liked.

A lot of it also had to do with his general reluctance to go anywhere near Level One unless it was absolutely necessary to do so following the massacre, and with how ill at ease the very thought of climbing those rafters again made him.

He hoped it was enough of the truth for Simmons to buy it without pressing the matter any further.

His panic attacks were an embarrassing secret he was trying desperately to keep anyone from finding out about.

Finally, his friend seemed to decide to drop the subject after a few awkward moments of silence.

"I—I don't really want to go back to the hotel." Simmons muttered, looking embarrassed at the reveal.

Ah, so that at least partially explained why the redhead had been so insistent on wanting to go see what Level One looked at night from the rafters.

In a way, Grif could understand why. Simmons was horribly self-conscious and returning drunk to where the fake peace talks were being held was probably an extremely mortifying thought for him.

It wasn't like Grif thought the prospect of going back there in general was a great idea either, given its location and the less-than-friendly Above Ground military who would be on guard there.

Most places beyond late-night bars like the "Randy Offering" would be closed by now though.

Even the park in Level Three with the "Warthog" (it was a Puma though, seriously! People didn't know how to fucking name things) metal sculpture closed its gates by this time.

More than likely because drunks used to stumble in there to pee or something, and too many families would find them passed out face-first on the ground the next morning.

Going to base with Simmons in tow was definitely out of the question.

"The transports to the lower levels are always running. One should be close by." Grif finally said.

That was if he could figure out exactly where they were in Level Four at some point soon. Hopefully, they'd exit out onto one of the main streets for the level soon. He'd have no problem from there.

The Above Grounder simply gave him a blank stare, not understanding what Grif meant by the comment.

Grif sighed before explaining himself further, "There's another place down here you haven't seen in a while that you might get a kick from checking out, Simmons."

---

"You still have this place?" Simmons asked in surprise as he waited on swaying feet for Grif to unlock the door to his apartment.

Grif grinned, an almost proud look crossing over his tan face, "Well, Low Town isn't exactly the most ideal residence spot in the Slums, but this place is mine. Paid for and everything. That's hard to give up."

Especially since it had taken a whole lot more effort than Grif ever cared exerting to hold onto it, to make it even remotely akin to a "home" for both himself and Kai when they were relocated down here after their mom had left.

It was a dump, no doubt about it. But, it was theirs. That was something he wasn't ever going to take for granted.

"Well, yeah, but…" Simmons seemed to be trying to choose his next words carefully, which almost made his eyes look crossed given how many drinks he had had before, "But, with you and Kaikaina both in the army now—"

"Kai only joined a few months ago, so she needed a place to live beforehand." Grif cut his rambling off short to explain quickly.

"I kind of liked having my own place to recharge at when I got leave." He glanced over at Simmons then, "Wouldn't you?"

Simmons almost seemed to draw in on himself at the question, a pained look crossing over his features momentarily.

Grif frowned, about to apologize and not quite sure if he should ask what about the remark had caused the maroon-wearing soldier to get upset.

"I…haven't really thought about it." Simmons said before he could get the chance though, in a sheepish voice. The hurt look had dissipated from his eyes as the Above Grounder spoke.

Deciding it best to get over the awkwardness that seemed to envelope the situation then, the Slums dweller decided to carry on as if that moment hadn't happened, "Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to."

Grif scoffed then, smiling in a joking fashion, "You probably don't even sleep that much in the barracks at your base because you volunteer for extra work, right?"

The portion of his face that was still freckled reddened and Grif wondered just how close to the mark his comment had been. Simmons definitely over-achieved when it came to his work ethic in general.

"Being proactive isn't a bad thing, Grif!"

He rolled his eyes, smirking, "Kiss-ass."

"Fat-ass!"

The exchange had them both grinning by the time the door finally opened.

He really needed to get that digital lock fixed. The door took forever to respond when one entered the code in. One of these days, he always thought to himself before promptly forgetting again.

"Yeah. I guess I should be saying sorry about the mess, huh?" Grif asked as they stepped inside, having heard a sharp intake of breath from the person following him in.

Even though Simmons didn't really breathe anymore, it seemed he still had the reflexes all the same.

Both Grif and Kai had never been too big on cleaning or organizing. They tended to pretty much drop things on the ground of the closest available surface whenever they were done with them.

Eventually, they would force themselves to take a bag to the dump, but it was more on a monthly give-or-take basis than the usual weekly one most of the other apartment residents did.

There was always a whole lot of yelling involved to determine who would do it in the first place too.

It had been like that when Simmons had stayed there too, though admittedly it had gotten even worse since both Grif siblings were usually not there now for weeks at a time.

At least, Grif supposed, it was good from a hygienic stance that they had started throwing away food into the actual trash once it went bad instead of just leaving it like they used to.

Though, admittedly, that had more to do with them having found a family of roaches living out of a hollowed container of what had once been spoiled milk than anything else.

But, hey! It counted as some kind of progress, right?

Anything else though? Such as empty bottles, containers, or papers? Still a free-for-all at the Grif household. Electronic filing was so much easier comparatively, at least from a trash stance.

"It hasn't really changed at all." Simmons exclaimed, almost sounding awed as he surveyed the space.

The sense of awe mixed oddly with the obvious look of distaste that was clouding over his features as the Above Grounder looked over the apartment.

The scene definitely took Grif back to when Simmons had first been here.

"We clean the dishes now though." Grif supplied helpfully, "Sometimes. When they start threatening to spill out over the sink."

Simmons rolled his eyes and joked sarcastically, "I guess I had a positive influence after all."

Grif shrugged and told him honestly, "More like the bugs did, but Kai did find the chore wheel funny. I think she still has it framed in her room."

The Above Grounder sighed at that, but there was an oddly nostalgic look on his face as he stepped up to the ugly couch still in the middle of the living area.

It had been a pain in the ass to get in the apartment, so in Grif's mind it was here to stay until it disintegrated into dust.

A blanket and pillow were still spread out over it from the last time Grif had been back home. Simmons was absent-mindedly removing snack wrappers from the top of them.

Figures. Liable as he was to pass out from alcohol, the nerd still wanted to organize and clean.

"How are your cybernetics?" Grif asked quietly, his gaze going down the length of far-too-white (even with how pale Simmons naturally was) synthetic skin that was visible from the redhead's face to the neckline of his shirt, "Bet they make sleeping difficult, huh?"

Which would be a definite downside to the whole cyborg thing in his mind.

Dexter Grif liked being comfortable and he liked being able to sleep. He especially liked comfortable sleeping.

That alone would probably make him not want to be a cyborg, even if the super strength and night vision stuff might be cool.

Simmons stiffened at the question, as if it had caught him off-guard. He refused to meet Grif's eyes.

"It's uncomfortable a lot of the time." He finally admitted at length, "Even when I'm not resting."

Grif must have looked at him oddly then, because the other man quickly elaborated, "I—I mean…it's a lot better now than it used to be!"

Simmons smiled again, that odd self-deprecating one he had given Grif earlier when he'd recalled his near-death experience climbing up to the rafters, "It hurt like shit when I first had the operation. That pain has gone down a lot thanks to all of the upgrades and fine-tuning I've had done since then."

The cyborg spoke not only as if he was trying to assure Grif, but himself too in a way.

The Resistance fighter frowned, wondering again as to why Simmons had decided on the augmentation in the first place.

Some of the abilities that came with the enhancements definitely sounded like they would be neat to have, but a lifetime of pain and discomfort that one walked into voluntarily?

He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

He was afraid to really ask more about it though, as the topic seemed like an extremely uncomfortable one to the Above Grounder based on his body language whenever it was brought up.

Fuck, a year ago he seemed to panic at Grif simply asking about it when they'd first met up again.

So, the tan-skinned man decided not to really ask too many personal questions on the topic and play it up like it was no big deal to avoid Simmons being uncomfortable.

Any time Grif referenced it now was either in his usual joking way or when he didn't think a question was too heavy. Or when he would try to put it in a more positive spin if Simmons seemed particularly negative about the subject.

Even then, it wasn't foolproof that he wouldn't get a look from Simmons as if Grif had just punched him in the gut.

Simmons gave him an awkward smile again, apparently deciding on his own it was best to change the subject as he said while indicating the couch, "I remember you letting me sleep here before."

With that, the redhead plopped down onto the piece of furniture as if to see if it felt the same as he remembered.

The slight grimace as he did so wasn't lost on Grif, though within a few moments of adjusting his position it seemed to dissipate from his features completely.

Simmons was lying down, staring up at the ceiling as he had when he'd crashed on the couch as an eighteen-year-old running away from home.

His expression was one of intense concentration, as if he was debating something inwardly.

Grif walked over then, leaving over the Above Grounder, "Hey, Simmons. Kai isn't here this time so you can have the bed if you want. I don't know, might be more comfortable for you now." He shrugged, "Besides, I crash on the couch all the time so I'm used—"

He had not been expecting Simmons to lean up just then, or the hug that followed. Grif stopped talking, caught off-guard as the redhead laid back again and pulled the Resistance fighter down on top of him in the process.

It was an awkward, uncomfortable jumble of body parts: the couch was pretty big, yes, but it was only really meant to have room for one person lying on it.

Simmons had to reposition himself in order to make room for both of them so that Grif would not immediately fall off if he lowered his arms any.

Not that there was much chance of that happening anytime soon, the redhead was holding on tight still after having pulled Grif down along with himself.

The action effectively caused the stockier of the two to be pinned somewhat between the cyborg and the back of the couch, though more due to his leg just getting stuck there due to the jostling.

They stayed like that for a few, painfully long seconds.

Simmons' hands were clinging to Grif's back.

Grif was staring at a neck with two shades of color to it, his breath slightly fogging up the synthetic skin there while causing goose bumps to form on the natural pale patches.

Simmons wasn't saying anything.

Grif couldn't tell if that was because his friend had passed out now with the effort, or if he had gone into an extreme panic mode because of his actions.

"S—Simmons?" He finally managed to get out, moving his head slightly to see wide eyes and an impossibly beet red face staring at him in shock.

His voice seemed to register in Simmons' brain at least somewhat. The hands on his back started to move, momentarily tightening their grip before making circular gestures as if attempting to be somehow reassuring.

Simmons had done that before as well, during the hostage situation when he'd tried telling Grif things were going to be okay.

Weird to remember that now of all times.

"S—sorry."

Grif said nothing, at first having not been sure that he'd heard the whisper at all and still not entirely sure what was going on.

Or what Simmons would even be apologizing for in the first place.

Simmons had definitely been more than just a bit tipsy this whole night. But it was as if just now all of the alcohol he drank earlier was hitting him full-force, so the Above Grounder wasn't making that much sense.

Perhaps that was one of those side effects of being a cyborg they just never showed you in the Old Earth movies.

Simmons' about-to-burst-into-tears-any-second look was causing any complaint or joking commentary Grif could think of in response to what was happening to die in his throat.

"I'm sorry…about everything." He was sniffling.

If Grif's arms weren't awkwardly stuck to his sides by the weird positioning, he'd be tempted to try returning the hug too as best he could with Simmons lying with his back on the couch as the redhead continued, "About hurting you."

Suddenly, an odd sort of clarity struck Grif about Simmons' drunken rambling.

He was talking about what had happened a year ago.

Because of Grif's remark about Simmons not knowing his own strength during the conversation after he'd scared those ladies off.

Simmons had probably been dwelling on that all night given how self-conscious he was about his enhancements.

Grif asking him about the cybernetics moments before must have just brought the whole thing to the surface again due to him being drunk.

Fuck.

He should have known that Simmons would still be beating himself up this badly over the whole hostage situation.

He should have realized that any remark about it was going to make him become that much more overly self-critical.

The man beat himself up for far less on a daily basis, after all.

Adding alcohol into that equation, and the fact that Simmons apparently reacted to being in a bar and getting stressed with copious amounts of drinking?

Well, you were liable to get some very strange, emotional outcomes.

Grif tried to get enough air into his lungs to tell Simmons not to worry about it, that he was just being his usual teasing asshole self, when one of the Above Grounder's hands managed to somehow slip underneath his shirt.

The skin-on-synthetic skin contact instantly had his mind freezing up. The cooler hand on Grif's back causing an odd sort of tingling feeling to travel all over his body.

The tan-skinned man had to fight back the urge to moan that inadvertently rose inside him, not entirely sure what to make of that reaction and knowing that all of this was happening just because Simmons was drunk and had no idea what he was doing in the first place.

Simmons was continuing to mumble, apparently oblivious to his hand's movement or the effect it was having, "I—I've been practicing to—to know how strong I am now." He was saying in a conversational tone, as if this was a point he felt he had to get across to someone at least, "To avoid hurting…or breaking things. I have to."

The redhead shifted again, thankfully stopping moving his hands across Grif's back in the process.

His one hand rested underneath Grif's shirt still though, and the Resistance fighter was surprised that he found it resting there to be more soothing than upsetting.

The Above Grounder's new position meant that Grif was even more pinned between him and the back of the couch, laying pulled over top of Simmons.

Grif's leg was going to cramp or fall asleep soon enough, just wait.

The redhead's embrace tightened for a moment, but not to a suffocating or uncomfortable level.

A strange look that Grif couldn't read at all crossed over Simmons' eyes and features as he looked at the Slum resident's tan face.

Simmons' skin was still a vibrant shade of red all the way to his synthetic plating, though despite whatever embarrassment he was feeling he looked oddly intense and serious all the same.

"I—I want to be gentle, Grif." He murmured, voice only minimally slurred.

Simmons tilted his head slightly, so that his mouth was close to Grif's ear.

Only a centimeter of movement and he'd probably have his lips touching the shell, "W—with you, especially." The redhead looked to be taking in a shaky breath despite not having lungs anymore, "I—"

Whatever Grif's extremely drunk friend was trying to get across to him through his stuttering was lost in the next second, as the door to the apartment suddenly swung open.

"I knew it!" Kai shouted from the doorway at the top of her lungs upon seeing the two of them, an expression of utter glee suffusing her features.

She was standing there with a blonde girl who it took Grif a few seconds to recognize as Volleyball.

The two had been holding hands, he noticed, though they dropped them the second they had walked into the apartment.

His sister was still looking extremely pleased with herself, while the other lieutenant just gaped at the sight in surprise. To the blonde's credit, there was a slightly apologetic look in her eyes at having walked in on Grif and Simmons.

The intrusion shocked Simmons right out of whatever he had been about to do.

He rolled onto the floor in an unceremonious heap, his position having been rather precarious due to his whole impromptu hug.

Grif followed him a few seconds later, though the Resistance fighter was much quicker to recover given that he often would fall off the couch when sleeping anyways.

He was back on his feet instantly, glaring at the intrusion.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Kai?" Grif asked, even more annoyed than usual at his sister's penchant for bad timing.

He honestly had no idea just what Simmons had been trying to say, but it had obviously been meant to be a private moment. Now?

Well, now the redhead was liable to die of embarrassment if he even remembered any of this.

For whatever reason as well, Grif realized for the first time that his own face felt rather heated too.

He was chalking it up more to just being embarrassed and exasperated over the interruption than anything else.

"I just came by to get something." His younger sister made a face at his reaction to her walking into the apartment, following it by giving the two men a suggestive wink, "What were you doing?"

"None of your business!"

Grif felt his face redden even more than it had been.

He wasn't about to say that he hadn't been quite so sure about what had been going on himself, knowing it would probably only give his little sister more teasing fuel later.

Volleyball turned to Kaikaina then, wide-eyed as realization settled over her face, "You do realize this would mean Jensen won the bet, right?"

"Oh, you're right!" Kai grinned, nodding, "We should definitely tell her later."

"No one is telling anyone anything!" Grif yelled in exasperation.

At the exact same moment that the tan man shouted that, Simmons suddenly shot up to a standing position. He'd apparently been busy trying to make himself into a tiny ball on the floor before then out of embarrassment.

The Above Grounder was still very much red-faced, but now there was a definite green tinge to his pallor as well.

The reasoning for that was quickly made apparent as he darted to the bathroom while avoiding eye contact with everyone present.

The sounds following his departure also left very little to the imagination.

Grif stared at the bathroom door worriedly, while Volleyball and Kai looked both sympathetic and disgusted all at once.

Couldn't really blame them for that. Puking was definitely not a pleasant experience for anyone.

As much as Grif wasn't a clean freak, he really hoped Simmons had made it to the actual toilet before inevitably emptying all of the drink and food contents from his stomach.

It didn't take long once the retching sounds quieted down somewhat for Kai to turn her attention back to her older brother, a smirk forming on her face, "So, how far did you guys finally get?"

"God damn it, Kai!"

---

The trip through the tunnels was rife with uncomfortable, awkward silence beyond York's initial joking (and, let's face it: pretty awesome) banter.

But that was to be expected given who he was traveling with and the current situation.

Carolina wasn't the most talkative person to begin with, and given everything that had happened in the past? Well, that was even more the case now.

She had never exactly been one to shoot the breeze on stealth missions even on secure channels. So, naturally, silence was the rule of the game this time.

He remembered this one time back when Washington had somehow gotten his radio stuck on the secure channel for days while not out on a mission.

While York had found it hilarious that the younger Freelancer apparently sang off-key in the showers, their leader had not appreciated hearing it while in the midst of a firefight.

The other team members had been wanting to keep quiet for blackmail purposes since North and Florida weren't on the mission to tell them to knock it off earlier, but an annoyed Carolina let the whole charade out of the bag when she promptly told Wash to shut up.

Poor kid had nearly died of embarrassment. From how he'd screamed, he must have thought that she had burst into the bathroom right then and there or something!

Though, really, Wash took that helmet everywhere way too much.

York chuckled slightly at the recollection, which immediately caused the cyan-armored Freelancer to stop and look at him.

"Is something the matter, York?"

Uh-oh. Better rein it in there, buddy.

"No, I was…just thinking about something." He told her, "You remember that time you yelled at Wash for getting his radio stuck?"

He could tell she was frowning underneath her helmet, "Not the best time for reminiscence, York."

"I know, I know. I just can't help it." He smiled nostalgically.

"Besides, if he was going to take long showers he needed a wider selection of songs."

He hadn't expected the joking commentary in turn, and he stared at her in surprise for a moment. But, Carolina was already one the move again.

He had to struggle to keep up with her quick pace, "You don't think about the past much?"

Perhaps that was the wrong question for him to ask, given everything that had happened.

Of course Carolina did. Otherwise she wouldn't be as close-guarded as she was now.

"I try not to." She finally told him, a decidedly guarded edge to her voice, "It makes things harder, given what's happened since."

That was to be expected, unfortunately.

The brunette hung his head, "Carolina…"

What could he say though, really?

That he was sorry? That wouldn't have been a completely accurate statement.

Besides, she had always known him well enough to be able to tell when he wasn't telling her the whole truth.

York was sorry for a lot of things in regards to the way thing had turned out though.

He was sorry that they had all been lied to.

Sorry for the Alpha, for Delta, and the other Fragments. Sorry for Flowers being dead. Sorry for North in regards to South and Theta. Sorry for Washington that they had to leave him behind when he had needed his team the most. Sorry for poor Maine.

He was especially sorry for everything that had happened to Carolina as a result of what the Director had done.

But, York couldn't be sorry for deciding he'd had enough when he had finally learned the truth.

He couldn't apologize for siding with Tex and leaving.

The former Freelancer had tried convincing her of it too.

He knew Carolina. Being both deceived and used wrongly were not things she generally would tolerate, but she was too stubborn.

She was too convinced of Tex being "the enemy" and wanting to believe the Director still.

York siding with Tex had been a betrayal of a trust she did not give easily. That was what had put up the wall between them now more than anything else.

"You were right, you know."

She had said that so quietly, for a second he wasn't even sure he had heard her correctly. He looked up at her, but Carolina was staring straight ahead.

"About the Director, at least." She finally said at length, "About Freelancer."

Because he was a glutton for a punishment apparently, York had to push the breakthrough further, "Not about Tex though?"

The redhead stiffened and he knew that that was where she was drawing the line on her concessions still, "There's just…something about her that I can't trust."

He could almost understand the hidden meaning behind her words.

They were underlining Carolina's initial views on a mysterious newcomer to Project Freelancer who had seemed "too perfect." All while Carolina, the one who struggled the most to stay on top even when compared to the other top achievers of their group, couldn't compare.

It was a pride issue to a degree, but something else was there too.

Tex's ability had always been more than a little disconcerting to everyone.

Granted, that tended to happen when you could throw a fucking tank.

With the Director's focus on Tex and Carolina's continuing struggle with trust in general, things were always going to be tense between two of them.

No matter what Tex tried to do.

He remembered how defeated Tex had been when he woke up later after the rescue attempt had failed, when she'd recounted how she hadn't been able to stop the transformed Maine.

How she had failed in rescuing Carolina too.

It had almost been as if she had wanted York to blame her for it as well.

She'd been shocked, even disbelieving, at his insistence that there was no way someone as strong-willed as Carolina could be killed that easily.

"Guess you were right after all." She'd told him a year ago, shaking her head but with an odd smile forming on her face.

Despite how freaking badly that last altercation had gone down and how much he'd hurt, he had grinned back at the redhead, "Naturally. Our girl's tough."

Tex had clapped his shoulder then. Whether the action was in quiet agreement or in an odd way of trying to be comforting, he couldn't tell.

She never was the best when it came to that.

A part of him wondered if Carolina would ever believe that, given how her encounters with Tex tended to go.

"But, I do understand now why you left." She stated, still not looking directly at him.

"Then why don't you?" York asked, "If you know how messed up Freelancer is, if you don't agree with the Council—"

She shook her head, cutting him off, "There are things I have to see done there first."

Then it wasn't just about her issues with Tex.

"Like what?" The brunette frowned, suddenly feeling even more uneasy, "Just what the hell are you and D up to?"

Her pace quickened, "I have my own mission, York." She said curtly, "A personal one."

While the Freelancer might be willing to see where York had been coming from with his defection, apparently that damned wall was still up in quite a few ways.

She was obviously reluctant to tell him any more information than that.

Didn't mean he wasn't going to try to figure things out still.

"Which is…?" York tried prompting.

Carolina turned to face him then, body language stiff as if she was just waiting for an excuse to hit something.

In the past, that was usually a clear indication to back away a few feet, which he only didn't do now because he was that stubborn about wanting to find out what was going on.

"I need to find someone." Her voice was sharp, and he could picture her green eyes narrowing, "Then I'm going to kill them."

If it wasn't Tex she was planning to take out, then judging by her earlier remarks only one person came readily to mind.

"The Director's missing?" The former Freelancer asked, voice quiet.

The Resistance had heard nothing about that during all of their information gathering.

Considering how highly valued the Director's research had been, if he had just left or something had happened there should have been some chatter.

"The Council's been keeping it quiet." She elaborated, apparently reading from his body language what he was thinking.

More pieces to an already extremely fucked up game that group was playing then.

"So, you think they're intentionally hiding him so his crimes won't come to light?" He asked.

It made sense. If he faced a military tribunal, there would be public speculation and talk.

Project Freelancer, for all of the Director's actions, had provided some rather beneficial tech to Above Ground.

She shrugged, "Or so he can continue his side projects."

"You think whatever they're interested in down here could be connected to that too." The brunette reasoned.

She nodded, "Astute as always, York."

Yeah, she might have been hanging around Delta too much.

But, the reveal about her goal was insane.

Even for someone as strong as Carolina was, going after the Director and the Council on one's own was a suicide mission.

He was about to say just that and prepare for the eventual beat down that would follow, when Delta suddenly flashed to life in front of them.

"There's an odd energy signal some ways down this tunnel, Agent Carolina, Agent York." He informed them, again pointedly not looking at York.

His friend most likely had known what Carolina was up to the whole time, so naturally he had trouble looking at York when he knew him to be shell-shocked over the recent reveal. Delta was a lot more like a human than he cared to admit at times as he continued, "I am uploading the coordinates."

"Good." Carolina was back to business as usual, which was a pretty clear sign she considered that particular topic of conversation over and done with as she was no doubt thinking she had revealed too much, "Will we be the first ones there?"

"Negative. There appears to be several unknown people in the vicinity already."

Despite wanting to argue and try to once again reason with Carolina even though he knew how futile it would be, York went back to the task at hand with Delta's news too.

Changing focus certainly didn't halt the heavy feeling forming in his stomach after Carolina's revelation though.

"No one in the Resistance should be in this area but me."

They considered it too unstable a zone to just wander into constantly without a lot of preparation and notifications, after all.

Carolina exchanged a look with York then, "So we've found some of the Above Ground tag-alongs."

"Highly likely." Delta agreed.

They moved quickly and silently then, now that they were certain they weren't alone down here.

32-A was a bitch to traverse through even with night-vision in their helmets. The darkened, lifeless space they encountered was strewn about with rubble.

It made it hard to imagine anyone else being there, but he knew enough from past experiences to trust D's scans.

Eventually, Carolina took a sharp left turn into a narrow side corridor. Her speed increased as she maneuvered through the thin, maze-like spaces they encountered with an agility that would make any dancer jealous.

Obviously, Delta's coordinates were even further off the beaten path than 32-A was.

It was only on a very technical stance that the off-shoot tunnels would count as 32-A still on a map. They could just as easily connect to other main tunnels at certain points and then be considered part of them instead.

York was surprised when a rather bright light illuminated the air before them.

The corridor they had been in spilled out into what appeared to be the side wall of a huge mining shaft far larger than any of the ones he had seen so far in active use in the tunnels.

Peering down cautiously, it looked as if the tunnel continued down a very large descent. At the very bottom of the shaft, with the artificial lights they had brought with them, he could make out several heavily-armed figures.

All of whom were bearing the insignia of a very specific group of mercenaries.

York was also pretty sure that one of them was that dick, Locus. Next to him was the only differently dressed figure of the group, this one wearing familiar white armor that made the Resistance fighter frown slightly.

"That's definitely Wyoming." The former Freelancer whispered.

Carolina said nothing, and he fought the urge to clap her shoulder consolingly.

He was just as awkward as Tex sometimes when it came to that sort of thing, especially when he couldn't tell if the gesture would be remotely welcome in this type of situation.

The mercenaries and Wyoming were standing around some kind of large, spherical object.

From the design and odd sheen it had in the light, it almost looked as if it could be some kind of alien tech. Though, if it was, it wasn't like any kind he had ever seen before.

Maybe whatever it was had been the reason the aliens had been in 32-A in the first place?

If they had been trying to defend this area in order to keep Above Ground from knowing the exact location of this object, that theory would certainly make sense.

Whatever the object was, it seemed to be inactive though as it was remarkably dull.

Usually, any active alien tech tended to have a very obvious glow around it or from within.

"Getting closer would risk us being detected by Gamma." Delta informed them quietly.

"He still has Gamma?" York was surprised, though he supposed he shouldn't be.

After all, Wyoming hadn't defected like they had officially and Maine hadn't been seen since that whole episode either.

Neither Carolina nor Delta bothered answering the brunette's question, as the answer was pretty obvious already.

"We don't need to, Delta. We were just trying to locate them and figure out what they were after down here." Carolina's tone was serious, "Besides, I have an idea as to what that thing is."

"You do?" York glanced at it again, noting that the object did look vaguely familiar somehow now that she mentioned it.

"It was in the databases at the Mother of Invention." Delta informed him helpfully, "Though this is by far the most intact one to date by appearances."

The former Freelancer stared at it again, the shape finally jogging his memory of something he'd read in passing a long time ago.

"Fuck." He muttered under his breath, feeling cold all over.

A few of the alien ships that had crash-landed here had been carrying with them pieces of tech that apparently were more or less foreign to them as well. These pieces of tech reportedly came from some other civilization out there in the universe, probably long gone by now.

No one really knew much about the tech because it wasn't exactly like the aliens were in the mood to talk to people, and there was the whole language barrier beside.

But, persuasive techniques on a few unfortunate aliens early on revealed how they had hoped to eventually utilize those particular tech for their own purposes before getting stranded here.

Tech like the giant orb down below, which they'd thought was some kind of power generator.

York didn't really know much about it beyond that it was thought to be able to produce some kind of nearly limitless energy on quite an impressive scale.

The kind of energy that fell roughly into the "nearly impossible for humans to truly comprehend" levels.

However, it was seemingly useless without the proper tools to activate it.

The aliens had apparently been transporting it back to their home-world to figure out ways to finally harness some of that tech's potential for themselves safely when they had gotten stuck here.

Most of that tech now was pretty much just lawn ornaments, give or take.

Though there was always the possibility that some of the alien's own advanced tech could eventually unlock some of the mystery technology at some point.

If someone could get something like that power generator operating again, its destructive capability in particular could be off the charts.

Which is why there was even less of that tech left. The aliens usually destroyed it themselves after they were stranded to prevent it from going to humans.

Perhaps this one piece had been hidden away in the hopes that they could get to use it to get off the planet or as a potential weapon later. Who knew?

"York, get a comm channel open to the Resistance leader." Carolina told him, stepping back from the far too exposed but higher vantage point they'd been looking down from.

So far, no one had looked up because they were obviously more focused on what was happening in their immediate area, but it was probably best not to keep assuming that would stay the case.

"Right."

Yeah, this was bad news not only for everyone down here to be sure, but for everyone in general.

"The peace talks make a lot more sense now. Somehow Hargrove found out something like this was still in the tunnels."

Carolina was moving back the way they had come, York following. It was suicide to stay with so few numbers. It would be best to regroup and strike in force.

"It certainly kept everyone distracted long enough to buy them the time to locate and transport the damn thing before anyone noticed what they were up to." He muttered in agreement.

"Delta, transfer the coordinates to York." She stated, turning to the brown-haired man, "You can send them to your teammates that way."

He stared at her, surprised, "You're not staying?"

This was huge. It was also, obviously, a matter she knew well enough affected everyone.

It was odd to think she wouldn't want to take part in the skirmish to prevent the generator from getting into the Council's hands.

"If something does end up going wrong, you'll need someone to figure out just what they're planning to do with that thing." The Freelancer said matter-of-factly, "I am fairly certain you lost that when C.T. joined you."

So, Carolina had managed to put two-and-two together on that front too.

He frowned, though he knew her logic was pretty sound from a strategic "covering-all-the-bases" stance.

York just wished it wasn't, probably for personal reasons.

"Does that mean you'll be holding off on the whole killing-yourself-for-revenge-thing until this is settled?"

He was pretty certain she was frowning at his word choice there when the redhead replied: "No promises."

"Carolina—" York tried again, hoping she wouldn't punch him this time.

"There is no time for this now, York." She said with such finality that he stopped.

He knew that to be true even though it sort of hurt almost as bad as getting punched did.

There was never enough time to say all there was to say, even when he'd had more time for it.

Now he definitely didn't have any at all.

Carolina was leaving and, as always, he hurried to keep up, "I have to get my moronic cousin and his squad out of here before Hargrove decides this charade isn't worth keeping up any longer. You have to see to getting your side ready for what's about to happen."

The Resistance fighter did have to pause again though, confused by her wording just then.

"Cousin?" He asked, "You mean Church?"

Her pace didn't let up at all this time, "I thought you knew that."

York frowned, about to say something when suddenly Delta was in his field of vision.

"York, may I have a word?"

Carolina nodded her head as if to say she would give them a few seconds, perhaps thinking they were going to have parting words since it had been awhile since the two partners had properly spoken.

She even walked further down the tunnel to give them some privacy.

"D, do you know what that was about just now?" York asked quietly, afraid to know what he was already beginning to suspect might be the answer.

If it was true, then Carolina had more reasons to want the Director dead than even she was aware of.

The sick feeling in his stomach increased.

"I have my suspicions, but I am hesitant to voice them until I know for certain."

Delta all but confirmed it right there.

"That's—!"

Heartless. Insane. Cruel.

One could take their pick.

Just another of the things York felt sorry about.

"Forcing it could be highly traumatic for both people involved." Delta reasoned calmly, gently even, "I would not recommend it."

So not only Church then, but Carolina too?

He wondered absentmindedly if Tex would count that as another failure.

He sure as hell was.

Delta seemed to sense York's negative reaction to the news, "I assure you that I am watching out for both of them, York."

The former Freelancer knew logic was only part of the reason why too. That Delta was watching out for them and telling York so to try to comfort him.

He'd been inside his head. He's always known York's all-too illogical feelings.

"Thanks, D." York smiled slightly, despite himself.

"It's what makes us human." Delta echoed back a phrase York had always told him whenever he'd questioned his human partner's actions.

"True enough." The nostalgic moment passed, and he turned serious, "I won't tell her this because she'll kick my ass, but I better see both of you again."

Then York followed through with a simple, "Stay safe, D."

"You as well, York."

With that, his friend flickered over to Carolina again. The redhead stared silently at York for a few more seconds before suddenly turning and disappearing down the tunnel.

He sighed. That had certainly been a better ending than the last time they'd met from a physical stance at least, but the brunette felt even more hurt than he had a year ago all the same.

As upsetting as Carolina's reveals had been, that wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.

Now he was left to wait with his thoughts. He'd forgotten how radio reception in 32-A always sucked for some reason. Perhaps it had to with the battle that had been fought here earlier.

Or quite possibly it was the giant, mysterious potential death trap located fairly close by. Take your pick.

After a few more minutes, the radio finally clicked on and he heard Kimball's voice.

"York. Anything to report?"

Judging by her tone of voice, she almost sounded like she was hoping he would say "no."

Not that he could really blame the Resistance leader for that given the circumstances.

The former Freelancer would have preferred that to this news himself.

That's for damn sure.

The brunette sighed reluctantly, pulling himself together because he knew that was what he had to do just then.

"Yeah, there's something all right." York informed her, "If we don't act soon we are probably all fucked."

---

Author's Notes: Somehow the second half of the one big massive chapter turned out to be even larger than the first was! XD I regret nothing (except for the stuff that I do, haha!).

I apologize for the romance stuff again if it seemed strange. I'm never too confident with writing that. But, finally got the whole party thing out of my system with this part while also doing some more plot reveals. Next chapter will have some awkward "after" moments, and will also be when stuff starts getting REAL. XD

I hope you enjoyed this really lengthy chapter. Thank you very much for reading! :D