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.}

24. Chapter 24

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 Twenty-Four:

For someone who had only recently figured out that he wasn't actually human, Leonard Church certainly seemed to be getting a shitload of horribly timed headaches still.

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and glaring at nothing in particular in the really ugly decorated space he was currently sitting in. Technically speaking, what he had actually done just a little while ago should have removed two of the biggest headaches he'd been experiencing recently from his life.

Well, one pretty big migraine-sized one in purple at least. The other one in gunmetal green was more of a minor one, but only-if-she-got-to-talking-about-her-Spanish-speaking-boyfriend-who-was-also-a-robot. Otherwise, he tended to get along the best with her in general out of all of their team.

Though it probably also said a ton about her patience factor that she could stomach his rants as well as she did.

Apparently, even the act of forcibly sending two of his teammates away to relative safety had him getting some kind of annoying "tension headache." Or whatever was the robot equivalent of one, at any rate.

There probably wasn't such a thing as true safety anymore, given what they were up against. But, being out of the city proper now was the closest thing they could get to not being in some asshole's crosshairs over the very massive shit they had pulled recently

If Doc were here, his good-natured but horribly impractical teammate would probably suggest that Church dip his entire head in a jar of aloe vera. Or maybe that he try taking up a calming breathing exercise or something.

"Just going through the motions could help, even if you don't have lungs!"

Shit, both of his teammates would probably get on his case about just fucking sharing his feelings. Or some other touchy-feely crap like that in order to relieve his stress.

Yeah, and even thinking about hypothetically being told shit like that was causing his headache to get about ten times worse. On top of a sudden eye twitch.

Fucking awesome.

Seriously, this was just further proof that worrying about people other than yourself was absolute bullshit.

He didn't need this crap. Given that, it really fucking sucked that he was such a caring person.

Okay, yeah, he was fairly certain anyone who could have read his thoughts just then and had known him for more than a second, including the old lady that he was fairly certain kept stealing his mail, would probably snort in disbelief. Honestly? He'd probably have to give that to them.

Still, when Church did give them that acknowledgement, he would also give them the finger and tell them to bite him all the same.

Maybe, just maybe, part of his unease had to do with just sitting in the safe house all on his own presently. The A.I. was waiting for news about how his teammates leaving the city limits had gone since Carolina had been dead-set on keeping communication silence throughout the whole process just in case someone had been monitoring them.

They'd limited their communications with pretty much everyone in general given that, a safer approach due to how tense things were now. You know, safer than just vocalizing every thought out there for possible pick-up by unwanted eyes and ears.

Currently, the Above Grounder had nothing to keep him company. Well, nothing but the shitload of explosive and deadly weaponry and armaments that the Freelancer leader had procured over the years since she had decided to stage her own personal vengeance mission.

Seriously, that whole situation was one of those times when you really just wanted to make a smartass remark about preparedness. But, then that's when your survival instincts cut in to tell you that was something to avoid overdoing. Especially since Church knew damn well that said weapons collector didn't even need those items to kill you in about thirty different ways.

Truthfully, he was actually missing his teammate jerks already.

Shit, the A.I. was nearly tempted to check in on the nerd and his recuperating boyfriend just for the company. Well, if he wasn't absolutely horrified at the thought that he could possibly walk in on something that might require him bleaching his eyes.

Also, he knew that Simmons would be reporting in here later at Carolina's insistence, so fuck it! Why should he have to do extra leg work?

He knew his current stress and anxiety had really more to do with Epsilon.

Church had always valued alone time before. At least, in a well-lit, more open space. While he still very much relished it, since the merge he found it more suffocating and panic-inducing if it lasted for more than thirty minutes. Before, he would have called anything over that a fucking ideal vacation.

It was like his fear of dark and cramped spaces, only upped to an even more terrifying degree.

Not that he didn't understand the reasoning for all of that far too well now. But, since Church tended to think that the vast majority of other people in the known universe were insufferable idiots, it made the desire to still be around them all the more contradictory.

Yes, he knew the same could very well be said of him. But, that was only because he was fucking awesome and those other people were all jealous assholes so they could just go and suck it.

Fuck, he didn't even have Theta and Delta to keep him company anymore since they had been with Tucker and Washington. He had actually found himself tolerating and appreciating the two Fragments quite a bit for the short time they had the chance to interact.

As for Carolina…

As if on fucking cue, the cyan-armored woman stepped into the darkened living room. She raised an eyebrow questioningly at him sitting there, before turning on the really out-of-place-looking lamp nearby and bathing the area in shadowy light.

"I thought you didn't like the dark." She remarked, sitting on the couch nearby the chair he was occupying.

He'd never had the guts to sit on that particular piece of furniture himself once they had found out what was inside it. The idea of someone's ass getting blown up was really only funny when it happened to someone other than him.

"I don't, but the light was off when you left and…" Church shrugged in an effort to appear nonchalant, "Guess the time got away from me."

Yeah, he probably should get a hold on his internal rants if he could lose that much time on them.

It would beat freaking out internally if he could do so by actually being aware of the darkness suffocating the space around him. Still, replacing one fear with something equally distracting and upsetting probably wasn't the way to go either.

"Hey, if I got myself one of those datapads for electronic reading, do you think I could actually go into it?" He mulled out loud instead, "Really get lost in a book and all that shit?"

Carolina didn't buy the question, though Church had been partially serious. Going into computer systems was still an odd experience, but he was almost tempted to see what it would be like for more specialized equipment. She seemed to recognize her cousin's question for the obvious stall it was, an attempt to avoid touching upon his more serious concerns.

Feelings, and talking about said feelings, were definitely not either of their fortes.

"Church." She fixed him with a pointed 'don't fucking bullshit me' look that probably would have caused most organic beings to piss their pants.

He rolled his blue eyes. Thankfully, his past interactions with Carolina caused Church to be slightly less intimidated since the other cues that you might be wandering into a dangerous situation with her weren't present. All bets would be off if he knew she was truly pissed and not just wanting him to not lie.

He wasn't that moronic.

"All right. Fine. How did it go?" Church asked.

He had a pretty good suspicion that things had probably gone as expected considering how the redheaded Freelancer had waltzed in here and was in a rather talkative mood. Well, for her, at any rate.

Which she more or less confirmed with her next statement: "I escorted them outside the city's perimeter, and we met up with the Resistance team tasked with bringing them back. They should be at their hideout within an hour, give or take."

Church nodded. He had a feeling it wouldn't have been an issue with Carolina around, even if Doc or Sheila decided to stop and smell the roses or some bullshit. Doc had in fact actually done that once while out on the field. Church had definitely had a major headache then.

That was the main reason he had asked the Freelancer to do this one huge favor for him to begin with. But, still, any move they made given recent actions and what they were up against would have some inherent risk attached.

Even if, technically speaking, this was probably the move that made the most sense in the long run from a safety stance.

"Well, that's a relief then." Church sighed, relaxing slightly, "You would not believe how much fucking convincing it took to finally get them to agree to go there."

Way more than he would have thought, honestly, given how admittedly jerky he could be. While the A.I. knew he was fucking great, it was a bit surprising that some people could tolerate so much awesomeness for lengthy periods of time.

Doc had almost teared up when he was leaving, and the hug from both the medic and Sheila had been so unexpected that Church had very nearly almost blurted out to them that he had changed his mind.

They could be dumb assholes a lot of the time, but they were his dumb assholes.

Even without him saying that though, it seemed as if Carolina could read his thoughts. She sighed, an oddly sympathetic note in her voice when she finally spoke up.

"Your group has been through a lot together, and I know that couldn't have been easy." She told him, "But it was for the best, Church."

He knew, otherwise he never would have been the one to arrange for the transfer in the first place.

While through some fucking miracle they hadn't been linked to any of their more recent excursions against Hargrove yet, who knew how long that would continue to be the case?

Their little group of insider agents were a shitload more vulnerable and out in the open during this period than the rebels were. Plus, with less numbers on their side.

Sending his teammates into hiding was a smart decision, given that. No matter how weirdly hesitant and anxious it made him feel to do so.

Honestly, given what Carolina and he intend to do once all the shit finally goes down? It was safer in the long run too. His teammates, his friends, getting mowed down wasn't something Church wanted to see happen during his revenge spree either.

Fuck, he would have ordered Simmons away too. But, he knew the kiss-ass wouldn't go anywhere until the fat-ass was able to move without bleeding all over everything.

Sheila and Doc had almost refused to go on that account as well, until Church noted that Grif was at least stabilized now and that Simmons knew all of the medicine shit by heart at this point. Seeing the hesitation still lingering in their body language even after that, he swore that he would look out for the damn nerd too.

Not that he probably wouldn't have done it anyways. But, it made his order for them apparently easier to swallow all the same, even if they still went pretty damn reluctantly. Granted, by that point it was less of an order and more like begging really, but a very manly and self-assertive begging.

Only a couple more days in that regard, and Church would feel confident enough to probably get both the nerd and the Slums dweller moving their asses too.

Simmons not hanging around the safe house too much did help disassociate him from Carolina and Church a little though, which gave him a bit more of a cushion. Church should probably tell him to limit his visits to here even more for awhile next time, given that.

It was the best he could do given the shitty-as-all-fuck situation they were all currently in.

He glanced at the darkening look crossing over Carolina's face, and knew she was probably thinking of the Freelancers again.

That team had pretty much imploded under the machinations of the asshole Director in charge of it, but the AI knew fucking well that she had chosen to sever pretty much most remaining ties with the still alive Freelancers who would probably have still fought beside her. Both because of the past, and what she had been working for up until now for the future.

It hadn't been an easy decision for her by any means, no matter how indifferent she tried to play up her mannerisms.

Shit, she probably missed having Delta and Washington in particular around even more than Church and company had when they'd been forced to leave. Delta even more-so since, from what he had gathered, their partnership had started pretty much in the immediate aftermath of the defections and her recovery period.

Carolina was determined in her path, and she probably didn't want to see any of them get burned along with her if it came down to that in the end. He knew there were some instances when she debated pushing even him away too, like she had done before.

But, Church could be just as fucking stubborn when it came to shit too, so fat chance of that happening now.

Only thing he felt slightly bad about was promising Doc and Sheila that they'd meet up again after everything went down, as who knew if that would be true or not? At least it helped them feel better about shit at the time.

…He probably hated goodbyes just as much as Allison had, now that he thought about it.

Burying that touchy-feely crap, he nodded in response to Carolina's comment, "Yeah, I know." He raised a black eyebrow then, motioning to the couch she was sitting on, "We've got a shitload more planning to do still, so let's move on and deal with that instead."

Carolina nodded, even though it was apparent in her green gaze that she knew the real reason as to why he wanted to move the subject along. She probably understood more than she would ever feel comfortable vocalizing, and thankfully chose not to make any further remarks about his team and what had happened for Church's sake.

After all, they did have a lot to prep for still for their trip to Sidewinder and the waiting Director they would no doubt find there.

---

Dexter Grif would never admit it verbally because he had a particular reputation he was trying to maintain, but honestly?

He would be glad as all get-out to finally be able to stand up and move around again without having to take so many breaks, or without the sharp shooting pain as if he was going to literally tear apart while going through a simple motion.

Everything seemed to take way longer than it needed to. Having limited mobility and near-constant bed rest on account of that was definitely not his definition of relaxation.

Especially not when the dosage of pain killers he was on had been decreased. It was one thing when he was pretty much floating in and out of consciousness and really not always constantly feeling how much everything ached. But, now he was more aware of every little injury.

He was also more conscious too. In a way, that may have actually been better because he wasn't drifting into nightmares or depressing recollections as often. It was still a really huge problem when he did fall asleep though, or on the verge of it in that weird state of mind where your brain liked to play tricks on you.

But, it was also unfortunately pretty boring to be awake and unable to do much. He wanted to move. To actually do something.

The feeling was so foreign a concept to his typical outlook on life that the Slums dweller was sort of inwardly freaking out over it.

It didn't help that, while he was sitting here recuperating, the rest of the world was not going to just stop and wait as well.

No, that asshole Hargrove still had a hold on the alien relic that he planned on turning into a bomb to use on the very place that Grif had been forced to grow up in. With that douche Felix right there to probably laugh along with him after having fucking played everyone.

Grif couldn't imagine the other mercenary guy, Locus, laughing though. Dude probably didn't even know how to, which was kind of even more creepy if you thought about it.

His teammates, his friends…fuck, even Kai, were no doubt preparing for a major offensive. One last attempt at stopping things from going from bad to a shitload worse while he was just lying here.

Grif knew Simmons was too. He wasn't stupid. The nerdy Above Grounder and his team wouldn't have gotten him out if they weren't throwing their hats into the ring, as it were. How else would they have even known about him being in Above Ground and captured in the first place?

It also helped that Simmons really wasn't as subtle as he thought he was.

A lot of the time, his friend was always around whenever Grif was conscious. Barring him, at times it had been Doc or the robotic Sheila, though the two of them had been less frequent recently. Still, he knew that Simmons stepped out quite a bit when he thought Grif was sleeping due to the medication.

Sometimes, Grif would wake up panicking. Fuck, he hadn't done that since he discovered his fear of heights following what had happened on Level One. At those times, the Resistance fighter would start searching frantically for anyone, but for Simmons in particular. Grif would then realize, after listening to complete silence for a while, that beyond him the place was empty

The Slums dweller found himself looking for Simmons specifically more and more these days. Perhaps it was just an aftereffect of everything, and feeling oddly safer for the first time in who knows how long in Simmons' house?

He would often have just calmed down by the time Simmons had come back, usually always no more than an hour or so later. Grif would try to keep from being too visible the odd rush of relief he felt at the happily surprised look that always seemed to appear on the other's face whenever he noticed that the Resistance fighter was awake.

When Simmons would try to explain where he had been, it was always something about "Just making sure the fridge has enough food for you, fat-ass." Then, when Grif would then point out that his appetite still wasn't to his usual levels yet it would be something like "It's for when you get better, moron! I am not letting you eat me out of everything!" but in a more flustered tone than an actual chiding one.

Except that Grif was fairly certain Simmons was going out at least twice a day and sometimes more, even if he wasn't entirely sure of time completely because the drapes were always closed in this room. Unless they had an entire room dedicated to a fridge here, there was nowhere left to store food by this point with as many grocery trips as that would be.

Granted, he had yet been able to move past this bedroom and its adjoining bathroom on his own. But, given how big this space alone was and the fact that it was an actual fucking house and not an apartment or something, maybe a whole room just for food here was possible. Though he doubted it because Simmons wouldn't have been cruel enough to keep something like that from him.

He was fairly certain Simmons was sneaking out to secret team meetings and the like, and that at the moment he didn't want Grif to know about them.

Perhaps that was the reason the door to the room was always closed too. It was never locked, he wasn't being kept a prisoner or anything. Still, it was a heavy door. One that, when closed, muted outside noises like snippets of hushed conversation between Simmons and one of his friends. Or newscasts from somewhere else in the house.

Grif was afraid in a way to push too much, not sure if doing so would cause Simmons to clam up even more. That was something he definitely did not want. Getting to talk coherently to Simmons again while conscious was probably the only fucking positive of the last few days. But, now that the Slums dweller was more with it in general again, he was getting stir-crazy, impatient, and anxious all at once.

It did not help matters any that even something as simple as going to the bathroom took him longer to do than necessary, and not even because of a good porn magazine or his awesome idea of having a cooler of food by the toilet for an impromptu snack that no one ever seemed to allow because they wanted to argue with his genius. Rather, it was because of the pain and slowness of moving in general.

The wrappings for his injuries seemed to be made of a water-absorbent material, so he could get them slightly wet, but had to always change into new ones after a shower. So, he had to add to his bathroom time things like washing his hands afterwards because he didn't want to hear bitching from a sanitary-conscious cyborg. After that, he was almost drained to the point of just wanting to lie down again.

Grif could almost understand the worry keeping Simmons from telling him much in those instances, and he found that he was more annoyed at himself than anyone else for his current situation.

He was more than just halfway back to the pastel-sheeted bed when said nerd opened the door. Grif was immediately wishing his face hadn't been in a grimace due to a sudden sharp pain from one of the deeper cuts on his shoulder at that exact moment.

"Grif?" Simmons was at his side a second later, looking worried, "W—what's wrong? Do you need more pain medicine, or…?"

As tempting as that sounded, Grif really was trying to avoid relying too much on the medication now. Largely because of how disoriented and out-of-it it made him feel.

"I'm fine. Just had to take a leak."

He let Simmons hover anxiously at his side as he sat back down on the bed, waiting for his energy to come back. The pale redhead looked like he was debating whether or not he should just reach out and grasp Grif's arms to steady him, only holding back out of nervousness that he might press down incorrectly on one of the myriad injuries riddling the other's body.

"Oh." Simmons seemed to deflate a little at the reassurance, quickly settling into the chair he had by the bedside as he looked Grif over contemplatively, the worry still evident in his voice, "If you feel like the dosage was lowered too soon, let me know, okay?"

Grif nodded, though the smile on his face was rather self-deprecating, "Oh, trust me, everything still fucking hurts like a bitch." He told him, "But I wouldn't be able to even sit or walk as much as I am if it was bad enough for me to need that much again."

"N—no, I suppose not." Simmons relaxed at the joking edge covering Grif's tone, "You are healing at a good pace."

He knew that, having seen the full extent of his injuries awhile back. Though Grif still honestly wished it could be quicker all the same. But, knowing that to be impossible, he sighed. No point in bitching about it too much when he was more than lucky to even still be breathing.

"Think in a couple days I'll be able to join up with the others?"

Probably a foolish question to ask.

All things considered, he was healing nicely and could possibly be more physically active simply due to the rest he had been getting and the rather advanced medicine of Above Ground. But, being fit for duty would be stretching it. The Slums dweller thought he would be able to if he was careful in a little while, but even he knew the risk of making his health worse would be extremely high.

It seemed as if Simmons was thinking the same thing, given how his face fell a bit, "We'll see, Grif. M—maybe."

Yeah, Simmons was pretty bad at hiding what he was really thinking.

Grif was about to contemplate that further and say something else on the subject, when he noticed Simmons' eyes darting from him to everywhere else practically in the room, then back to him. More specifically, to the bandages still wrapped heavily around most of him. There were bits of adhesive dressing around the nastier cuts on his face still too.

He froze under the scrutiny, not sure exactly what it meant.

"Have you…" Simmons' face was beet red and he was glancing over at the still open bathroom door as if it was a lifeline, "Been trying to b—bathe recently?"

It was an odd question to ask, so Grif raised an eyebrow and thank fuck that only hurt mildly now as it meant he wasn't deprived of all joy yet, "You mean shower? Just say it like how a non-nerd would, Simmons."

Yeah, Grif wasn't too keen on the "bathing" thing. Even before this, showering was on an as needed basis and he honestly never thought he needed it all that much.

Doc had made him do it the first time he'd been up enough to move around, and the pain on the cuts as well as feeling like he would collapse on the floor hadn't been pleasant. The blood from the few wounds that reopened under the water was pretty fucking disconcerting too.

The medic had offered to stay in the bathroom in case he actually did collapse, but that was a bit more discomforting so Grif had made him stay outside until it was over so that he could help medicate and bandage up the injuries again.

Since then, because they insisted on it and it was probably a good idea to change the bandages every once in awhile given all of the cuts and wounds, he tried doing it at least every so often when he felt up to it.

"You know what I meant!" Simmons shot back in annoyance to the non-nerd remark.

He sighed, "I haven't done it today, no."

Namely because he couldn't redo the bandages on his own. Grif could wrap the bandages pretty well by himself, but the topical medicine Doc insisted on slathering over his body was nigh-impossible for him to get everywhere he was injured.

He would usually get Doc or Sheila to help him with that. Oddly enough, while she tended to push too hard as a robot thing it seemed like, he preferred Sheila's polite chatter and efficiency to the really energetic ramblings of the purple-armored medic. Grif could totally see how he and Donut had bonded so readily, and that kind of had him missing his way-too-perky teammate.

But, neither of them had been around for the past day or so. Something which Simmons had evidently also noticed.

Simmons looked at his hands anxiously, "If you want, I could help with the—"

Grif shook his head quickly, "Nah, it's cool. I'll wait and do it later." He stated before adding in jokingly, "Have to get back to my showering once a week at some point, right?"

That apparently didn't sit too well with the redhead sitting nearby, because his eyes narrowed. The red cybernetic one slightly glowing with the motion.

"That is not happening, Grif!" Simmons told him quite emphatically.

It was always an oddly pleasant surprise when the Above Grounder's more stubborn side came out for some reason, but Grif tried to ignore that thought at the moment.

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and totally failing at it when he couldn't help but wince at the motion, "Like I said, I was never that into showers before and I'm feeling better now—"

"Better doesn't keep you from getting a horrible infection from not taking proper care of yourself!" Simmons had stood up then, actually towering over the tan man. The whole thing would have been rather comical as it seriously looked as though the cyborg was one second away from stamping a foot, if not for the fact that he was getting upset on Grif's behalf.

The Slums dweller sighed, feeling oddly grateful at the outburst and desperately trying to quickly change the subject at the same time.

It wasn't that he didn't know that for health reasons he needed to change the bandages sooner rather than later. But, a very large part of him didn't want to take up Simmons' offer to help.

Grif wasn't sure why, but the idea of Simmons seeing what was underneath all of the gauze was really upsetting to him.

He was fine with other people seeing it, couldn't care less really. He wasn't exactly the biggest worrier about appearance or hygiene, even when push came to shove. But, Simmons seeing that mess? Watching his reaction?

For some reason, Grif dreaded that immensely. Even knowing that the Above Grounder had probably seen it when he was unconscious was enough to make him kind of ill.

"When Doc or Sheila come back they can help." He muttered under the cyborg's glare.

This seemed to cause Simmons to simply become exasperated once more, "I'm right here, Grif." The redhead informed him, "Why wait for someone else?"

He frowned, feeling snappish himself now at the stupid nerd's pushing, "Just drop it, Simmons." Grif waited a second, eyes falling to his bandaged fingers again before adding, "Please."

It was the way he spoke that last part, and how he avoided Simmons' eyes, that finally gave the cyborg pause.

"Grif, are you—" There was a slight hitch to his voice just then and had Grif looked up at that moment he would have probably seen a vibrant shade of red across the organic components of the other's face as he put two and two together, "Are you embarrassed by the injuries?"

The Resistance fighter raised an eyebrow again, not even bothering to look up, "Wouldn't you be?" He asked, "I'm going to look like a fucking freak puzzle even after all of it scars over."

Grif couldn't help but smile ruefully as he continued, "I wasn't much of a looker before all of this, Simmons. I sure as hell won't be one now."

Simmons said nothing for a long while following that, and Grif figured he wouldn't because well, no point in arguing with logic.

"That's—that's not true."

It came out really softly, but loud enough that Grif looked up at Simmons questioningly and was surprised to see Simmons staring at him emphatically.

"You were always a looker, Grif." He remarked quietly, "Wh—when we first met, I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

Grif looked amused, not getting the joke, "Probably because you were fucking pissed that I punched you more than anything."

Simmons was plowing on as if he hadn't heard him, his hands twitching as if he was going to reach over and grasp Grif's shoulders for added emphasis, "No matter what, I still think you're—"

All of a sudden, as if his mind suddenly caught up to what his mouth was saying, Simmons froze in midsentence. His eyes went wide and his face began taking on a purple hue as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

For some reason, Grif almost felt the same, "S—Simmons?"

The hands hovering by his shoulders gave him an awkward pat instead before the cyborg practically jumped back as if to flee from the room entirely, "Um…r—right. I guess you can wait for a little while longer, Grif." He stuttered, "I—I have to go out later and—and you look tired."

Well, he did feel tired. But, suddenly, the Slums dweller also felt rather energized. He blinked, not sure what to make of his friend's sudden timid demeanor.

Rather dumbfounded, he was easy to guide back to laying down. The redhead refused to look at him the entire time, instead fixating on the blankets with such focus that he'd probably tucked in tight enough that one of Grif's arms was practically stuck at his side. The other, fortunately, he'd pulled out quickly enough to keep free.

"Um…" When Grif finally was able to speak again, "Okay?"

Yeah, this conversation they were having was fucking mind-blowing.

"But…" Simmons was getting back his articulation in the meanwhile by changing to the earlier topic and not on Grif's thoughts on his looks now or how Simmons himself apparently viewed the chubby fighter, managing to look Grif in the eye once more stubbornly with only a slight blush on his real skin, "If neither of them come back with me today, I will be helping you with the bandages. No arguments, understood?"

Grif nodded, suddenly feeling way too exhausted to argue although he probably could come up with some excuse afterwards if he thought on it more, "Understood."

"G—good."

Simmons sat back on the chair, wanting to keep him company until he had to leave again. Grif was glad for that.

"Hey, Simmons?" He asked, eyes darting to the antique furniture of the room. There wasn't even a terminal to watch T.V. or anything on. Or any signs of Simmons living there.

"Y—yeah?" He fidgeted, perhaps afraid Grif would want to ask about his odd behavior earlier.

"This is your house, right?" When Simmons nodded, he motioned with his one free hand around the space, "Then how come it doesn't seem like you live here?" Grif asked, "No offense, but this doesn't seem like your style at all."

Simmons frowned, gaze also sweeping over the room in question, "That's because it isn't." He explained, voice going soft once more, "It's my mother's."

There was a tinge of sadness in his tone just then too, and Grif remembered that he had spoken about her passing away before.

"Sorr—"

The cyborg cut him off, apparently knowing that Grif hadn't meant any kind of offense to begin with, "I couldn't…" Simmons paused, looking uncomfortable, "Bring myself to change anything here."

Grif could understand that, "So I'm set up in her room, then?"

Simmons glanced at the floor in embarrassment, his face tinged pink, "Um, well, I spent so little time here after I came back from the Slums that first time that…" He had to whisper the next part, "I haven't changed anything in my room from back then."

Which probably meant a whole lot of teenage nerd stuff was in there that he would never want either Grif or someone else who enjoyed teasing him to see. Gotcha.

"Heh. Nerd." Grif couldn't help but smile though, as that sort of fit for Simmons. If he could pry himself off the bed later, he might try venturing in to peak still. If only for a second.

Simmons become even more red-faced at that, but said nothing as a slight smile crossed over his features as well.

"So your dad…" Grif began hesitatingly, now just curious about Simmons' home life again and wanting to find out a little more about it in general.

"Couldn't have cared less what the fuck happened to this place afterwards, so long as it didn't affect him any." The bitterness in the cyborg's voice was almost palpable.

Grif nearly winced at that himself, about to ask more when Simmons suddenly stood up. A dark look momentarily crossed over his features before he smiled down at Grif in an attempt to hide it, although he wasn't able to conceal the hurt glint that showed up in his green eye a second later. The cyborg tentatively squeezed his shoulder in a reassuring motion, perhaps just as much for himself given how upset he'd just gotten as it was for Grif's sake since he probably hadn't meant to worry him.

"I…I should get going." Simmons tried saying in a nonchalant manner and failing pretty miserably at it, "I'll bring you back dinner, all right?"

He hadn't even known it was close to evening until then.

Grif nodded, wanting to ask more, but suspecting that even if he did Simmons would probably brush it off as if whatever issues he had with his father weren't big deals at this point.

His friend left, and the Slums dweller closed his eyes fairly quickly afterwards.

The nightmares of torture merging with Level One on fire again, and everything hurt and he couldn't fucking breathe…

He woke up in a darker room with the sound of muffled voices coming from behind the door.

Simmons had apparently left in such a hurry due to his own discomfort at the last part of their conversation that he hadn't closed it fully this time.

Desperate to take his mind off of the recent troubling sleep episode he had just experienced, Grif got the blankets loosened enough with a lot of effort and pain that he could finally get up.

Slowly, he went to the door and peered out. He was surprised to see a terminal airing a broadcast from the inside of another room across the hallway. Simmons', probably. It seemed the redhead been so absent-minded earlier he had forgotten to turn it off.

Grif froze when he heard an all-too familiar voice, even if the last time he had heard it was several months ago at a fake "diplomatic" session.

It seemed like Hargrove was having some kind of press conference.

"There is a special event planned for Above Ground's anniversary in three days' time. I think everyone will be quite surprised by the festivities."

The words sunk in as he looked at those eyes that weren't nearly as smiling as Hargrove's face was on the screen, and the Resistance fighter suddenly seemed to be somewhere else.

There was pain all over and fire in his lungs, and everyone dead or dying, and he couldn't breathe…

He wasn't sure where to, but Grif had to run.

---

"This is fucking unbelievable." Washington stated, looking around incredulously at the people gathering inside the larger space across the corridor.

He probably should have expected something like this to occur, especially following Kimball's announcement of everyone who wanted to do so getting the day off to rest. Within reason, of course. Apparently she had been very adamant about there being no alcohol or anything of the like.

It made sense as they were very soon about to enter into an extremely difficult fight, one that it was very unlikely they were all going to be walking away from.

Still, the Freelancer hadn't expected so many of the Resistance fighters to end up taking her up on it.

"What?" York looked amused at his commentary, the brown eyebrow over his good eye lifting to accentuate it even more, "You don't think they deserve a break considering what we're all about to go into?"

"Hargrove's surprise announcement just hit the information channels everywhere." North added in, not unkindly, "That was a pretty big reminder to everyone that this will probably be their last chance for this type of thing for quite awhile."

"I know that, but…" Washington sighed, his voice trailing off.

Maybe he shouldn't be so paranoid, but a part of him was screaming that if they didn't train nearly every second, that if they weren't constantly preparing then—

"Everyone's been prepping for this fight since Wyoming and those asshole mercenaries stole the relic, Washington." It was Tex's voice, surprisingly, that cut through the impending doom and gloom of his thoughts just then, "We're more than ready. Everyone knows Sidewinder is the real thing."

She continued before he had the chance to even regain his breath to say anything else, and it was pretty much a given since the days of Project Freelancer that one never interrupted Tex if she was talking, tilting her head tightly to nod in the direction of the gathering nearby, "Let them have this little celebration and chance to relax before the nerves hit again full force and they're puking everywhere."

"Ah. Like a certain rookie we all used to know." York joked, causing the other three former Freelancers to grin as Washington turned a bright crimson red at that awful reminder of an event he really had been trying hard to forget.

"Th—that was one time!" He spluttered, indignant, "You were the asshole who let me eat nachos before we ran those laps!"

"Yeah, because watching Maine nearly trip over your puke was hilarious." York grinned even more at the memory, "I thought Carolina was going to die from trying to hold in her laughter."

At the mention of their two absent teammates, silence suddenly spilled over the small group. From further down the hallway, voices chattering away cheerfully came drifting in to fill the space.

These odd moments like this when things seemed almost something akin to how they used to be, at least until some unintentional remark brought everything to a crashing halt. Those moments were the ones that Washington felt were the worst to deal with in regards to reuniting with some of his former teammates.

North sighed, glancing around the group with his usual trying-to-move-things-forward-again effort and Washington had forgotten how much he had missed that aspect of his friend's personality until just now, "So…Sidewinder, huh?"

"Yeah." Washington lowered his head, knowing the name wasn't a pleasant one for any of them given everything that had transpired there.

Seeming to know at this point that there was probably nothing else to say on the topic, the purple-armored blonde stood up, "I think I'm going to head into the outing." He announced, "Theta really wanted to meet Junior properly, so Tucker was keeping an eye on him."

Tex looked amused, "If I were you, I'd be afraid that he'll pick up some new vocab words when you get him back."

North smiled slightly at her joke, "Oh, trust me. I am pretty certain that's a given with this group."

The smile on his face was the same as always, cheerful and gentle. But, there was a pained look in North's pale blue eyes that Washington had a feeling had very little to do with the all-too likely possibility of Theta acquiring colorful new vocabulary and phrases from Tucker and the other Resistance fighters. It was probably more to do with the likelihood of just what they were liable to meet at Sidewinder.

Or, more accurately for North Dakota, who.

If South did show up there, what would happen between the two siblings, especially given the way their last meeting had gone?

Washington almost wanted to ask, but couldn't bring himself to.

That was a personal bridge for North to cross, and if he didn't want to tell them his thoughts about what he might do if he came face-to-face with the sister who had shot him in the back? Well, it wasn't in any of their rights to pry.

Besides, South had never actually said she was planning to side with Hargrove either. Maybe she wouldn't show.

Though Washington doubted it given what she had said before when they had met her and Wyoming at the Director's research lab earlier. It seemed as if she was intent on tracking her twin down, so if she had an inkling that they would show up at that location? Well, the odds were pretty high they would find her there as well. For what reason, they could probably only guess.

C.T. stood up also, "I should head inside too." She broke into the heavy silence that had settled over everyone again, "I want to see if Tucker's saved any ice cream for me."

Oh, right. Caboose had been prattling on earlier about there being an ice cream party on account of Junior being back. Apparently Tucker had promised it to him or something.

Washington had a feeling that was a conversation you would have to have been around for to get the actual story behind as a lot of Caboose's memories about specific events were a little misconstrued in their retellings, he found.

Evidently, they had decided given Kimball's announcement that this was as good a time as any for it, which had quite excited the younger blue-armored man.

His childhood friend glanced questioningly at Washington, "Want me to ask if they held on to any for you?" She asked him, her brown eyebrow raised a minimal margin with the inquiry.

The teasing in her comment was no doubt lost on any of the others. She'd always been an expert at hiding her truest comments from most people, even when they were both little kids. Washington, however, heard it a mile away given the slight smirk that creased the corners of her mouth upwards and how their conversations always seemed to go whenever she brought up Tucker to him.

He grimaced, noting the curious looks on the others' faces and the slight bemusement amongst them at the exchange and prayed that all of them just kept their damn mouths shut, "Just…go, okay?"

C.T. grinned before catching up to North as the two made their way from the Freelancer meeting to the larger gathering taking place.

Which meant that he was now alone with Tex and York, and would have an easier time bringing up the main reason he had even asked to catch up with the former Freelancers in the first place.

Washington frowned, wondering how to best broach the topic to them and figuring he should dive in without preambles.

"About Sidewinder—"

Tex cut him off once more before the rest of what he was about to say could even get out, "Carolina has a very large reason to suspect that the Director will be somewhere at the facility as well, and she is planning on partaking in a revenge mission while everyone else is distracted with getting to the relic and stopping it from becoming actively weaponized."

Washington gaped at the former Freelancer in shock, but she continued as if he hadn't while her vocal tone became firmer and her expression even more unreadable, "Furthermore, she and Church have found out what happened to them and now Church is helping her."

"Not to mention that he merged with Epsilon at some point recently too." York stated quietly, nodding his head in confirmation of everything the red-haired woman had just said.

"How?" Washington shook his head as if to remove the cobwebs that were clearly keeping him from seeing whatever it was he had missed that made everything he had been about to reveal so obvious to the other two, "How did you…?"

Tex raised an eyebrow in mild amusement at his confusion, "It was more than obvious she was planning something like that given her actions in the past, Washington." She remarked, "Plus, the two of them arranging for two of Church's squad members to be sent here earlier than the time for the attack further proved that."

Yes, Doc and Sheila's arrival had probably made it fairly apparent that something was up.

Had Carolina and Church not been planning on doing something incredibly dangerous and potentially suicidal, they would have most likely not bothered with the extra effort and their entire team would have just met up with the Resistance as one group before the fighting took place. Given what Doc had said about Grif's condition, it seemed that they hadn't yet tried getting Simmons to do the same simply due to it being harder to move the injured fighter at the moment.

"You also forgot about D and Theta too, didn't you, Wash?" York remarked, a slight teasing quality to his question, "They filled us in on what had happened on your previous mission."

"Indeed." As if on cue, Delta appeared hovering next to York's shoulder, "I thought it prudent that everyone be on the same page."

Washington had almost forgotten that Delta in particular would be even more privy to what Carolina had been preparing for all this time, as they had been working towards finding the Director together ever since York's defection and her run-in with the altered-beyond-recognition Maine.

Naturally, since Theta had actually been there when it happened, North's A.I. partner would have known about the whole incident with Church finding out what he really was as well as his subsequent merging with Epsilon.

The blonde felt rather embarrassed that he had nearly completely overlooked those crucial details.

Things had been increasingly difficult given everything that was going on, but that wasn't really any kind of excuse as far as he was concerned, particularly since he had just been ranting about how important it was for everyone to be fully prepared minutes ago.

Washington sighed, "I can more than understand their reasoning." More than enough, truly, given how much he had wished to just be free of the project, "But letting them do that? Facing it all alone…?"

"It says a lot about her bond with Church that Carolina is willing to even let him get involved." Tex remarked quietly once the Above Grounder had trailed off.

Very true. No doubt Carolina had always been preparing to handle the entire matter by herself, given how she had been approaching everything up until this point.

"All of us want to see that fucking bastard pay." York stated, and there was a hard edge to his voice then that normally one didn't equate to someone as friendly and easy-going as York tended to be.

Tex nodded, casting her dark gaze over to Washington to assure him, "We'll be making sure that they don't face it all on their own, even if it takes knocking their heads together to do it."

Washington gave a slight nod, feeling oddly relieved by the comment. After all, there was no reason why they couldn't stop the relic's activation and look out for a few friends all at the same time.

"Besides," Tex's face was still rather emotionless but there was an odd hesitancy looming in her words all the same, "I have…some things I'll need to clear up with both of them when all is said and done."

That was a very loaded remark, given just what Tex had been withholding from the two of them in particular this entire time. But, that was probably the closest any of the rest of them would ever get to her private thoughts on the subject.

Whatever it was she would say to Church and Carolina about their connections to one another, it was meant just for them and no one else.

"I'm just hoping not to get punched for once." York remarked jokingly after that, "Or not get a gun pointed at my head."

Tex snorted, "Yeah. Good luck with that."

Delta added in immediately afterwards, "York, the statistical probability of that given how volatile all potential situations would be at Sidewinder is quite low."

The brown-haired man sighed sadly in response to their commentary, "You guys never let me just dream, huh?"

"You'll just go ahead and do it anyway." Tex stood up then, apparently deciding their business was done by this point.

York grinned, "Yeah, probably."

He always had been the romantic type. Washington couldn't help but be in awe over that still, given everything that had happened to York following his defection from Above Ground. In a way, his feelings for Carolina still holding as strong now as they had been back then was oddly hopeful, all things considered.

Tex gave them a curt nod before leaving, disappearing in the opposite direction of the get-together.

No doubt she had quite a bit on her mind. She tended to always have a lot of thoughts, after all. Despite her earlier comments on how Washington should just let the party be, he had a feeling she was going to be preparing for things to come well into the evening and early morning.

York smiled, patting Washington's shoulder in the same comradely way he used to do before, "Want to go crash a party, Wash?" He asked, most likely only partially joking.

While it still wasn't exactly something he thought it was necessarily a good idea for them to be doing, somehow Washington found himself nodding his head regardless as he felt a slight smile ghosting over his face.

---

Kimball tapped her fingers on the side of the table, staring with a look that spoke volumes at the comings and goings of everyone around her.

After all, she was only here because Sarge had insisted on it. His reasoning being that the Resistance leader had given permission for this "danged shindig" to begin with, so it would boost morale if she attended.

"Besides," Sarge had added after yet another "debate" with Doyle over the current Above Ground policy in regards to the Slums, "Maybe getting away from politics and strategies for one day would help put things into perspective. You're liable to go cross-eyed with how often you've been staring at screens recently."

If Kimball stayed for another hour or so while mustering up smiles at any of the fighters who looked her way, she could probably leave without too much argument or eyebrow raising from her second-in-command.

Not that he was paying much attention to her now, stuck in a conversation with Doyle. The two were talking amicably together, apparently catching up on old times. She didn't feel like intruding on that, no matter how surprised she had been to learn that Tucker's tag-along was in fact the personal assistant to the Council.

He hadn't been, the last time the two Above Grounders had met evidently. Back when Sarge, Doyle, and a man named Butch had all been regular soldiers of Above Ground. Only Sarge had continued on in a regular soldier's life, at least until he found out just what the city was capable of doing to protect its secrets. Doyle had found himself thriving in administrational duties, and Butch had become something of a special case in the military.

Though, from how the reminiscing went with Sarge and Doyle following that, it seemed as if their mutual friend's end hadn't been a pleasant one.

If nothing else, Kimball found that the whole situation certainly proved in a way just how small the world could be.

If Doyle wasn't so stubborn in trying to justify certain actions of Above Ground, she supposed she would be more than keen on joining in their conversation. But, she didn't want to once again get into a debate at what was supposed to be a party.

Loud laughter rang out from another table. Thanks to Donut, members of the Red and Blue Teams were gathered around what was an impromptu, but excellently put together ice cream bar there.

She smiled, a genuine one, at the enthusiasm found there and was truly glad that Tucker had gotten the chance to fulfill his earlier promise.

Caboose in particular seemed a match for Junior in his exuberance over the spectacle. Despite Junior's more alien features, both could nearly pass for siblings with the amount of chocolate sauce, sprinkles, and whip cream covering their faces.

"Not an ice cream fan, I take it?" Four Seven Niner's conversational tone gave Kimball a start, and she looked over to see the tan woman taking a seat nearby. In her hand was a coffee mug, its contents steaming.

Kimball shrugged, "Had some already before everyone else got to it."

She received an impressed glint in dark eyes in response, "One of the perks of being in charge?"

The joke was enough to have Kimball smiling slightly again, "First dibs on an ice cream bar is one of the ones they never tell you about."

"Shame, that. I bet more people would sign up for leadership roles if they knew about it." The pilot looked down at her coffee in amusement, "I'd be more interested in getting first dibs on coffee myself. The dregs are the worst."

"Still doing maintenance on the air transport?" Kimball asked her.

Since coming here, the silver-armored pilot had pretty much been living in the air transport, looking over all of the repairs that Jensen and Lopez had done and making further ones herself. If she was needing caffeine to continue doing so through the late night hours, perhaps Kimball would need to draw up new plans after all. They didn't have too much time left at all before the offensive.

Two days. She would never forget that deadline.

Four Seven Niner was apparently quite adept at readings people's thoughts and troubled expressions, because she held up her free hand to stop Kimball's internal rambles.

"The transport is as good as she's ever been. It is probably even in better shape now than when the army was using her." She assured the other woman, "Your maroon-trimmed lieutenant and the Spanish-speaking robot really know their way around machinery."

The Above Ground pilot shrugged then, adding in casually before Kimball could ask anything, "I just like to know any vehicle I will be piloting inside and out before first flight."

"Oh." The Resistance leader relaxed somewhat, glad that one potential cause for concern was negated.

"I'm just hopelessly addicted to this stuff, but can't make it worth shit. Unfortunately." Four Seven Niner lamented with a tilt of her head to her drink, in way of further explanation about her earlier coffee remark, "My crew at Above Ground may have been morons who couldn't listen to any instructions whatsoever, but the one thing I made sure they could do right was brew a decent cup."

"If you're looking for that here, you might want to try Donut." Kimball offered conversationally.

She had learned to make suitable coffee herself out of necessity, but she had to admit Donut's efforts always put anyone else's to shame. He always tried his hardest to save her a mug when he could.

One of those other perks to being in charge, she supposed. Though she was polite enough not to brag about that in front of the pilot. Being something of a coffee addict herself, Kimball knew that would be cruel.

"He's the one in the pink armor, right?" Four Seven Niner was looking around contemplatively, "He had been here before, but…"

Ah, Doc had shown up a while ago. Church and Carolina had arranged "shelter" for their Above Ground comrades as the preparations for the fighting at Sidewinder started getting heavily underway. Given what their team had done in order to rescue Grif and Junior, it made sense that they would need to be away from the city for the moment.

The last Kimball had seen of the younger Red Team member in question, he'd been embracing the Above Grounder medic. Then the lightish-red armored soldier was pulling Doc away from the celebration after the bespectacled brunette had said a few words of greeting to the other Resistance fighters he knew.

She smiled slightly, "You might want to wait and see if he pops up again later."

Yes, Kimball certainly didn't want to interrupt the two getting an obvious chance to reconnect.

Particularly not if she still wanted the first dibs on awesome coffee perk she was getting now.

"Ah, thought that might be what was going on there." The black-haired woman looked amused once more, nodding her head in understanding, "As long as I don't find the two of them in the back of the transport later, it's all fine by me."

"Did that happen often?" Kimball honestly wasn't sure if she wanted to know the actual answer or not.

"More than you'd think." There was a glint of mischief in her brown eyes, "Stopped when I let slip that I had a heavy duty water hose on board though."

The mental image that brought on had Kimball sharing the pilot's smirk.

"I remember that. Wyoming didn't think it was nearly as funny as Florida though."

North was standing close to the two women with a smile on his face, taking the proffered seat next to Kimball as Four Seven Niner stood up to take her leave.

"That's because the only things Wyoming thought were funny were those lame-ass knock-knock jokes of his." She remarked.

There was another moment's worth of nostalgia that floated between the two of them before the pilot excused herself to go mingle elsewhere, clutching her cup of coffee as if it was a lifeline. North had apparently not wanted to ruin the Above Ground reminiscing by commenting on the less-than-stellar last few meetings he had with the white-armored Freelancer since then.

Kimball glanced around the area and noticed that Sarge and Doyle had just been joined by Doctor Grey, who was quickly striking up an animated conversation with Sarge in particular.

North seemed to notice her curiosity, "Apparently Doctor Grey knew Doyle back in Above Ground due to mandatory physicals and the like." He said in way of explanation, frowning as he overheard bits of their conversation, "I am…not entirely sure how she and Sarge got onto the topic of robotic arms though."

"I could take a few guesses." Kimball noted wryly, largely due to Doctor Grey's eccentricity and Sarge's fondness for robots and cybernetics in general. She sighed, noticing Doyle trying to be polite and looking decidedly out of place standing to the side of their energetic exchange, "I almost feel bad for him getting caught up in the midst of that."

"The two of you weren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye, I take it?" North asked curiously.

The dark-skinned woman turned her head away from the trio to fix the former Freelancer with a stare, frowning somewhat, "He seems capable at his job. Plus, both Sarge and Doctor Grey seem to think he is all right, which says a lot to me." She admitted carefully, knitting her brows together as she recalled their earlier conversations, "But, he wasn't as sure about whether stopping Hargrove would mean that things would change for the Slums."

Yes, the important thing was for the relic to be destroyed, or at least not activated as a massive doomsday weapon, and that Hargrove was stopped. But, if preventing a coup from taking place didn't help change Above Ground policy towards the Slums for the better?

Then there would most likely be no hope of that ever happening, and Kimball didn't want to dwell on that at the moment. The Resistance leader didn't want to think about how everything she and the others had worked and sacrificed so much for could all amount to so much nothing in the end.

"I think Sarge knows you're the best person to convince Doyle of that besides himself." North stated confidently, "You and everyone else here, that is."

"So, he's buttering him up then along with reminiscing?" When Kimball thought about it, it made a lot of sense.

"Having Doyle interact with everyone and actually seeing their stories certainly couldn't hurt." North smiled knowingly.

Kimball pondered that, wondering if later on it wouldn't be worth it to try approaching the Above Ground assistant again. A civil talk with the man, reiterating the general plight of the Slums residents and even illustrating some of the ways that Above Ground actions had negatively impacted its own citizens, could help sway his mind.

If she could do that, then maybe policy changes wouldn't be so far-fetched after all.

"If you need evidence and not just hearsay, we can back you up as well." North offered, glancing over his shoulder, "Right, Theta?"

The small, purple-armored hologram peered at Kimball shyly from his hiding spot behind North's head, "Right!" He chirped, apparently happy to be able to be of assistance to his partner again, "Though I don't think he'll need much more convincing. Mr. Doyle already understands things a lot better now."

She had suspected as much. In a lot of ways, Doyle's earlier attitude had been very reminiscent of when she was being phenomenally stubborn in the face of something undeniable that she wasn't in the mindset to acknowledge just yet. The last defiant act before acceptance took over.

Recognizing it subconsciously, she supposed the urge to push the Above Grounder's mindset beforehand had been too hard to resist. Which of course, only made the middle-aged man dig his heels in further.

"Thank you, Theta." She smiled at both North and the A.I.'s offer of assistance, "I'll let you know if I need your help later."

Actually, the concept of "evidence" they had brought up had just given her an idea of her own. One that would perhaps let her have her say without yelling it, when all was said and done.

"Are you enjoying the party?" She switched topics now that she had a better plan on how to handle future conversations with Doyle underway.

The childlike figure nodded emphatically at the question, "It's been really fun!" Theta exclaimed, the smile evident in his voice, "Junior is awesome."

"I'm glad to hear that." Kimball shared a smile with North at how happy and carefree the A.I. Fragment sounded just then, knowing from the rather relieved look in the Freelancer's eyes he was just as happy at seeing Theta enjoying himself as Theta was currently, "Tucker and North thought you two might get along."

"Everyone else is really nice too!" Theta continued, voice carefree and energetic, "I even learned a few new words!"

"Oh?" The Resistance leader looked at the sudden grimace crossing North's face just then curiously.

"Yeah!" Theta was so happy to be talking about the fun events he had just recently experienced that he didn't seem to notice the Freelancer's sudden demeanor change at the last part of their conversation at all, "Like, if someone eats ice cream too quickly and gets a headache, you can yell 'Fu—!'"

"That's really only a grown-up thing to say, Theta." North cut in quickly, looking both exasperated and amused all at once.

Kimball mouthed "Tucker?" at that, trying not to smile too much herself out of sympathy.

"Tucker and the lieutenants." He mouthed back, and she leaned over and patted the blonde on the shoulder consolingly.

"You'll learn a lot of colorful language around this group." She remarked just then to Theta, lowering her voice conspiratorially a second later, "But, for North's sake, maybe try to avoid repeating it too much. All right?"

The man in question looked halfway relieved for her handling of the situation, yet further exasperated once again that she had worded her advice to the childlike A.I. that way. Kimball smiled teasingly, especially since Theta seemed to like the idea of it being a "special occasion" sort of language.

"Ah! Ms. Kimball?"

For the third time that day, Kimball was caught off-guard. Though, she supposed, perhaps that was a sign that the party was having the positive effect of taking her mind off of things for the moment that Sarge had suggested it might.

Both she and North looked up from their friendly chatter, Theta hiding again behind the Freelancer due to his shyness. They found their eyes landing on an uncomfortable Doyle, looking rather ill at ease for having interrupted in the first place.

The Above Grounder nodded slightly in way of greeting to them both, "I am sorry to interrupt the festivities. Quite lively and nice, by the way," he rambled awkwardly, "But before Sarge and Emily wandered off to discuss something about the benefits of artificial livers, he mentioned you had something he thought I should peruse?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the older man in red looking up from a laughing conversation with Doctor Grey, mouthing out "Show him your danged diary!" while the two added in an overly comical thumbs up gesture.

North looked on in mild amusement, having caught the exchange himself due to his sharp eyesight, and Theta peered out from behind his neck cautiously. The Resistance leader quirked an eyebrow and tried not to look too amused herself that apparently Sarge had figured out the same method she had thought of to perhaps finally convince Doyle of addressing the problems facing the Slums sooner rather than later.

"Of course." She got up just then, "I was actually thinking today might be the best time to show you that."

The older man raised an eyebrow incredulously, "Would that have been before or after we got into another pointless debate?"

Kimball shrugged, shooting a conspiratorial glance at the former Freelancer and his A.I. partner sitting nearby, "Hopefully that won't happen this time. But, the night's still young and our friend Theta here has learned a few words that could be fitting if it comes down to that."

She saw North roll his eyes in the background, shaking his head softly. That, along with the look of utter confusion on Doyle's face and the sudden eager clapping coming from Theta at the prospect of showing off his newfound vocabulary so quickly, nearly had the dark-skinned woman laughing out loud.

Inwardly, Kimball hoped that this would do the trick better than her previous method of trading shouted words with the Above Grounder had.

After all, the Slums would need all the support from Above Ground policy shapers they could get following everything if they were successful at Sidewinder.

---

"Hey, C.T. Checking out the party, huh?"

C.T. couldn't help but grin in response to Tucker's cheerful outburst as she approached. After all of the heaviness that came with talking about events involving Freelancer and prepping for Sidewinder, having the chance to celebrate a bit was a welcome change of pace.

Hopefully, Wash and the other Freelancers could see the need for it too.

"I wouldn't miss it." She easily slid into the seat across from her teammate and his son, smiling at Junior in particular, "I'd say someone has been looking forward to this for awhile."

"Blargh!" Tucker's son sounded as though he was smiling, even if it was hard to read that on his face due to many of his facial features being so completely foreign from a human's. Still, it was easy enough to spot the all-too cheerful gleam in his eyes that gave it away.

Junior's face was covered in ice cream, as if he had simply dumped his head in a bowl. Knowing that he had the same level of exuberance for food as Grif did, that honestly wouldn't shock her. After all, Junior had been really looking forward to this ice cream party ever since Donut had let it slip following his rescue that Tucker had wanted to throw him one.

"Fuck, yeah! When we party, we go all out!" Tucker was grinning proudly at Junior, a smear of whip cream on his face as well due to trying to have a contest earlier with his son.

The resultant brain freeze scream from Tucker had filled the entire bunker, with the whole escapade made even more comical by Caboose's calm interjection seconds later that he had warned him that would happen if you ate ice cream too fast.

"Ice cream parties are the best!" Caboose spoke up suddenly from nearby, his face just as covered with ice cream and toppings as Junior's, "Especially with sprinkles!"

"Sprinkles are pretty important." C.T. agreed, going for a mix of cheerful and solemn seriousness as that seemed to fit the occasion in her younger teammate's viewpoint, though she was obviously more cheerful given the smile plastered over her face.

"They make ice cream more fun." Caboose was nodding his head, evidently finding the topic very thought-provoking, "Plus, no one is puking like at that last party."

"Yeah, that one was fun too though. Save the puking part, and the massive headache afterwards." Tucker frowned for a second in recollection before smiling again when he grasped Junior's shoulder, "But, this one is definitely better since everyone's together. Right, Junior?"

Junior nodded his head again, diving into another bowl of ice cream right alongside Caboose.

"Al ritmo que van, es probable que se puke en esta fiesta también." {"At the rate they are going, there will probably be puke at this party too."}

C.T. started, having not noticed that Lopez and Sheila had been hovering close by the table as well.

She smiled slightly at them, noticing that the two robots were still standing shoulder-to-shoulder. They had been quite close ever since the gunmetal green robot had arrived at the bunker with her Above Ground teammate Doc. Tucker had made gagging noises under his breath when they had walked up to each other initially and seemed to look deeply into one another's eyes. It had taken merely one glare from Tex to get the teasing about "robot loving" out of his system a second later.

"Are you two enjoying the party?" The brunette asked, nodding her head in greeting.

Sheila tilted her head slightly in response to the question, "Yes, it is good to see everyone doing so well at the moment."

"Siempre y cuando no se queda bloqueado limpieza posterior, es tolerable." {"So long as I don't get stuck cleaning up afterwards, it's tolerable."}

The female robot slumped her shoulders slightly, an oddly wistful note in her voice when she spoke next, "I just wish that Church and Simmons were here as well."

Lopez said nothing, though he reached over and grasped her shoulder, causing Sheila to look over at him and pat his hand reassuringly. Out of the corner of her eye, the former Freelancer could see that even Tucker was rather moved by the comforting affection on display there as she could see a soft sort of smile on his face instead of any kind of joking remark forming.

"I know it probably wasn't easy to come here, given that." C.T. began, as from what she could gather neither Above Grounder had necessarily been entirely eager to come to the bunker at the thought of leaving their teammates behind, even if they had been glad to reunite with some of their Resistance friends all the same.

Sheila shook her head slightly as if to get rid of any lingering sadness that might be on display and to reassure those around her that she was fine, "I believe Church and Agent Carolina both had their reasons for insisting on it." She said matter-of-factly, "His arguments made sense from a logic stance, at least."

"Simmons will probably be here soon as well then." C.T. stated consolingly, "Along with Grif."

"Probably best that the fat-ass won't come until after the party." Tucker noted jokingly, though it was obvious it was more in a way to cover up the concern that had flickered in his eyes at the mention of his injured and absent friend, "We wouldn't have enough ice cream otherwise."

Lopez shuddered at his comment, turning to Sheila conversationally.

"En una ocasión casi tomó el brazo de alguien fuera de un panecillo. Fue aterrador." {"He once nearly took someone's arm off for a bagel. It was terrifying."}

"Besides," Tucker continued in that same joking manner as before, "Church isn't exactly the party type. Carolina doesn't strike me as one either."

"She used to be quite fun at them, actually." C.T. smiled slightly, remembering the few occasions in which the redhead had been dragged to events with the other Freelancers and let loose just a little.

It tended to actually scare most of the others when it did happen, though. Which in turn made the whole thing even more entertaining.

"Seriously?" Tucker looked at C.T. in disbelief.

She nodded, "York could probably tell you more though."

As far as she knew, the two had actually met at some kind of club. York would always get a dopey grin on his face whenever he talked about it, which Carolina would roll her eyes at and shake her head before informing all of them that they had actual work and training to do.

"That might be too close to imagining Church and Tex's dating life for my taste." Tucker mock shuddered at the mental image that apparently put into his brain, "So many safe words all over the fucking place."

"You mean like a vault?" Caboose interjected just then, absolutely serious.

Tucker sighed, "Probably too literal, but, yeah. What the hell."

"York does like lock picking." The blonde seemed to think all of this made absolute sense, nodding his head slightly at the notion.

The others in the conversation, save Junior who was so engrossed in his ice cream and the lieutenants plus Private Palomo, sitting nearby all glanced at each other. Caboose didn't seem to notice though, once again focused on his own ice cream.

"At any rate, they'll be fine. So, let's try to enjoy this while we can, huh?" Tucker said to Sheila, both to reassure her and no doubt change the suddenly odd conversation thread.

The robot nodded, "Of course."

With that, things shifted to random conversations amongst everyone. C.T. saw the two robots eventually wander off to a separate corner of the space out of the corner of her eye.

Tucker raised an eyebrow at her suggestively when he noticed that they were holding hands, and she smiled slightly in return. Tucker apparently decided not to make any outward joking remarks due to how personal the moment between the two seemed to be. Also, no doubt because he was still afraid Tex would somehow notice it despite her not being present at all.

For her part, C.T. wondered what it was they might be discussing alone together and thinking of the last conversation she'd had with her partner right before what would become his final offensive, painfully enough. Despite the fact that someone might argue that they were simply two V.I., she hoped the robots would have a happier ending than that at least following whatever was to come in the next few days.

She hoped that for everyone, really.

"C.T., it is good to see you here!"

"Wouldn't miss it." The former Freelancer smiled in reply at Andersmith who had, thankfully enough, stopped trying to constantly refer to her as "Agent Connecticut". He sat down across from Caboose, his own bowl of ice cream on hand.

The lieutenant nodded approvingly at her words, glancing at Caboose and Junior nearby, "It was very thoughtful of Captains Donut and Tucker to arrange all of this." He stated happily, "It's also very moving to see Captain Caboose lifting Junior's spirits as well."

C.T. was fairly certain it had more to do with Caboose and Junior both happening to be partial to ice cream, but she opted not to say considering how much Andersmith's own mood seemed to be lifted by thinking about the whole party from his very different perspective, "Junior had gone through a lot. It is great if this helps him in any way."

Andersmith nodded his head again in agreement, blue eyes lighting up with the smile beaming on his face, "It certainly helps to boost morale for everyone else too."

C.T. couldn't argue with that. Even with the looming tasks ahead of them, people seemed at least slightly more at ease at the moment. Anything that helped do that, at least for a short while if nothing else, was a plus in her book.

The lieutenants had started to scatter, the brunette noticed. Kaikaina and Volleyball had both patted Junior on the shoulder affectionately before leaving arm-in-arm, and it was now just Jensen conversing with Palomo at the far end of the table.

Andersmith was just coming back to his seat from fetching Caboose and Junior more bowls, to which Tucker had looked at him thankfully for as he was trying to discuss something with his son and younger teammate that seemed to somehow involve hand puppetry.

The former Freelancer blinked, deciding that she really needed to not tune out so much when she recollected.

"My wife would have enjoyed this." Andersmith said, almost absent-mindedly, "She loved lively gatherings."

C.T. said nothing, not sure if he had actually meant to speak out loud or not given the slightly faraway look crossing over his features. The older lieutenant had mentioned having a wife before. Given the way his eyes dulled over when he had done so previously, it didn't take too many guesses as to why he always talked of her in the past tense.

It also explained why he had joined the Resistance so much later in life than the other newer recruits he was counted amongst had.

"A…" C.T. spoke up finally, but had to pause to search for the proper wording to address him to someone not already familiar with the story, "Close friend of mine would have enjoyed this too." She allowed herself to smile wistfully, remembering her partner's talks of loud gatherings and rambunctious outings, "He liked gatherings like this. Reminded him of family."

The older lieutenant nodded appreciatively, looking grateful that she hadn't asked any prying questions about what he had said but had still chosen to address it in a different way, "It would be ideal if we could have more reasons to have these types of events in the future, don't you think?"

The Above Grounder glanced around at everyone then. She saw Tucker babying his laughing alien child and Caboose. She saw Sheila and Lopez having their quiet talk off to the side of everyone else, and the more animated discussion going on between Palomo and Jensen currently.

She saw everyone just living and trying to enjoy the moment regardless of what might lay ahead. She thought of those who weren't here as well.

When she looked back at Andersmith, the brunette couldn't help the slight upwards tugging of her lips at the earnest and all too hopeful look in his eyes as he waited for her response.

"Most definitely." C.T. agreed.

---

Lavernius Tucker had been to a lot of parties in his lifetime. We're talking shitloads of them.

He'd always been a "life of the party" type of person, after all. From innocent little get-togethers usually of the very boring variety, to loud raves with a lot of heavy drinking and a whole lot of stuff he would never probably feel comfortable talking about in front of certain people. You know, the types of parties that were x-rated all the way.

Sadly, not that he had a lot of success in those ones compared to half the shit he'd heard Kai talk about having done just to see if she couldn't burst a blood vessel in her brother. But, hey, being around the vicinity when that type of sexy stuff was going down had to count for something, right?

Still, this little the-world-as-we-know-it-might-be-ending-soon-so-let's-just-do-something-for-the-heck-of-it party?

It was probably the best damn party Tucker had ever been to, x-rated raves and all.

Even getting the chance to have a brain freeze with his son, who was laughing and acting more like himself again, was more awesome than the Slums dweller could describe. Getting to do so with so many of the people he counted as friends and even as a surrogate family now? Even more so.

Tucker really was rooting for victory in the upcoming "stopping the doomsday weapon" plan and some massive amounts of comeuppance to boot in the process. Still, getting to hang out with everyone before, just in case, was something he was immensely grateful for.

He'd have to thank Donut for remembering about his ice cream party remark from a little while ago, and also Kai and her friends too for helping to set the whole thing up the second Kimball had announced they would be having the night off.

Fucking amazing is what they all were.

It was too bad the fat-ass wasn't here as well, even if that gave everyone else the possible chance to stuff themselves silly for once. He supposed it just had to do knowing that Grif was doing marginally better now, given Doc and Sheila's earlier remarks in particular about what his friend's current condition was.

Tucker wasn't about to ask those two any more questions right now since they'd just been reunited with their significant others. He could literally feel the electricity between the two robots in the room still, even after they'd moved farther away—bow-chicka-bow-wow!

But, yeah, life couldn't get much better than it was at this moment. Threat of impending destruction looming over their heads notwithstanding.

"Hey, Tucker!" Caboose was calling over to him from where he was seated across from Junior, his son trying to show Tucker's teammate how to balance a spoon on his nose with little success. It had fallen off for the fifteenth time when he'd turned to address the teal fighter, "Do you think Freckles would want ice cream too?"

The dark-skinned man frowned, "It would be pretty hard to get a gun to eat ice cream, don't you think?"

Caboose shook his head in a mock pitying way that his son was quick to mimic much to Tucker's amusement, "Silly Tucker. Of course he cannot eat it! It would make the bullets and confetti all wet and soggy."

Right because evidentially soggy bullets and confetti, a recent addition Doctor Grey had apparently thought would be good for Freckles' gun body, would definitely be a deal breaker.

Tucker raised an eyebrow, "Then why ask at all?"

Caboose scoffed, exchanging a look with Junior as if this should have been a no-brainer, "Because it is only polite to include him!"

Obviously. Didn't want the trigger-happy Virtual Intelligence stuck in an assault rifle to feel left out.

Tucker closed his eyes and sighed, "If you think it would help him feel included then sure, why the fuck not?"

Sometimes it was better to just go with Caboose's train of logic than argue against it.

"I left him in my room because he gets shy at parties." Caboose was grinning now, barely able to contain his excitement, "Can I bring it to him there?"

"So long as you don't spill anything and use my sheets to clean it up. Again." The Resistance fighter still remembered that one time he found ketchup and mustard all over his bed following Caboose's attempt at mimicking Grif's horrible eating habits.

Tucker saw the pleading look crossing over his child's face sitting nearby and smiled again, "Why don't you let Junior help you pick out the toppings?"

"Blargh!" Junior was beaming at the notion, his eyes lighting up at the prospect. Freckles' new confetti trick had already endeared the V.I. to the boy.

"Oh, this will be so much fun!" Caboose was already standing up, absent-mindedly wiping at the mess on his face.

Tucker would have to clean Junior's later, once he had calmed down from the sugar rush that was no doubt in store for all of them. The younger Blue Team member grabbed the tiny alien's hand before heading over to the carefully laid-out bar complete with handwritten calligraphy cards of lightish-red coloring detailing exactly what was what as Donut went all out for any kind of event he helped plan.

"Let's pick out the best sprinkles!"

That comment from his teammate left Tucker wondering what would constitute the "best" sprinkles for a V.I., while Junior was emphatically agreeing to the sentiment with a cheerful "Honk!" of his own.

The Slums dweller smiled slightly, watching the two of them for a moment. As sometimes insanely frustrating as Caboose could be, Tucker had to admit that his childlike enthusiasm could be oddly helpful at times. He was glad to see being around Caboose in a setting like this seemed to put Junior more at ease.

With his son and neediest teammate currently distracted, he was able to focus his attention elsewhere.

Sarge and Doctor Grey were chatting it up, a dynamic he was honestly torn between being more amused by or terrified of. They could both be a bit scary at times on their own, so it was downright nightmare-inducing to think about what they might get into together.

Kimball and Doyle had walked out earlier, though he supposed it was a good sign that the earlier tension between the two seemed to have currently more or less faded. It hadn't been the good kind of tension either, but the kind that came around when you were really tempted to take a swing at someone else.

Sheila and Lopez were still hanging out in the corner that they'd headed to before, and Tucker really wasn't about to interrupt whatever was going on between the two of them currently. Even if it was probably a lot of sweet nothings being murmured in electronic Spanish. He was fairly certain they couldn't make out since neither robot had faces underneath their helmets, but fuck it if he was going to chance that since if he was wrong that sort of thing could scar him for life.

For similar reasoning, as much as he wanted to thank Donut and Kai for all of this, Tucker was in no hurry to run out and find them either given who they had wandered off hand-in-hand earlier with.

Even if the possibility of running into Kai and Volleyball in particular could be massively hot, it probably wouldn't be worth the beating either girl would be liable to give him for interrupting them. Or the one Grif would undoubtedly threaten him with when he found out about it later.

Jensen and Palomo had moved to sit near C.T. and Andersmith, the four engaged in cheerful talk about pretty much anything but the upcoming battle. Apparently the newer recruits had turned the tide of the conversation to C.T.'s involvement in the whole air transport escapade since the three of them had been with Washington, Caboose, and Donut back then.

Tucker smiled slightly at the exchange, glad that the former Freelancer on his team seemed to have some erstwhile supporters in the lieutenants at least. Still, he didn't really want to get involved in that particular conversation himself at the moment. The dark-skinned man had recounted his whole part in the rescue mission more times than he could count already, and he hadn't even been back in the bunker for all that long!

He was just about to simply close his eyes for a second when he noticed York and Washington walking into the area. The tan-armored Freelancer was grinning at everyone and saying something over his shoulder to Washington, who seemed way too awkward at the prospect of being there.

Tucker was torn between wanting to smirk at the sight or frown.

Granted, he already knew that Washington wasn't what one would call a "party person" as the blonde was only probably slightly more of one than someone like Church, for instance.

Though, honestly? That wasn't saying a whole lot since Tucker was pretty sure Church was trying to develop the super-power to be able to make get-togethers burst into flame with just his scowl whenever he had to be present at one.

Washington was also probably super-uncomfortable around any of the Resistance fighters save the ones that had been in his Ultra Secret Kickass Super Soldier Club before given their past meetups. But, still.

For a whole shitload of reasons that Tucker didn't want to dwell on right now, he was fairly certain that Washington was probably one of the people who most deserved a damn break and some fucking ice cream to boot.

He glanced over to Caboose and Junior once more. They were still debating their choices over at the bar because, evidently, picking out flavors and toppings for a purely symbolic gesture to a talking gun was a very time-intensive affair.

Tucker then caught C.T.'s eyes briefly, and gestured his head somewhat towards the two. She turned her gaze from them over to her two former teammates along with Tucker, realization dawning instantly in her eyes. His brown-armored teammate gave a slight nod in affirmation that she would keep an eye on the kiddies.

Not that there was anything too flammable lying around to worry about with Caboose, but if the two looked up and Junior happened to notice his dad wasn't around? Well, he seemed to be quite fond of C.T. and the lieutenants, so he'd have plenty of reassurance that Tucker would be coming back soon.

Tucker wasn't quite sure why her lips seemed to curve upwards into a knowing sort of smirk when he mouthed his thanks and moved with only a slight limp towards the direction of the other two Freelancers. But, he was too focused on reaching Washington in particular before the guy decided the party scene wasn't for him and decided to bolt to really dwell on it.

"Hey, you guys nearly missed it!" Tucker joked, sliding over to the wall that the steel-armored Freelancer in particular seemed to be glued to.

"You know me, always fashionably late to everything." York replied back, his grin widening.

An odd look crossed over Washington's face at the opening comment from Tucker, "Missed what? People getting stomach cramps?"

"Well, that has only happened to Palomo so far and it was kind of hilarious." Tucker recalled the earlier event of the aqua-trimmed fighter deciding he was going to try eating a whole bowl of marshmallow sauce in one go. Honestly, he was actually sort of impressed that the private hadn't puked following that.

Granted, Tucker still wasn't sure if he should be feeling more amusement or pity for the dark-skinned young man since he may have been one of the people who dared him to try doing it. But, mentioning that right about now probably wouldn't make it a selling point.

"Ah, so that wasn't you screaming over a brain freeze earlier then?" York asked in obvious amusement himself as the Above Grounder was always one to stay positive towards the newer recruits, if he could. Tucker seemed to recall both Sarge and Tex stating that York babied them a bit too much.

Tucker shrugged, "Getting to have ice cream with my kid again really excited me, what can I say?"

The brown-haired man nodded his head in understanding at that, "Speaking of Junior, where is the little guy?" He asked quickly, looking around, "I wanted to introduce him to D since he and Theta seemed to get along so well earlier."

Tucker had a feeling that had more to do with Theta resembling a child in a lot of respects himself. But, he knew Junior would be naturally curious and on his best behavior for another small, armored humanoid that floated in front of him too.

"He's hanging out with Caboose at the bar trying to figure out what ice cream to get for Freckles." Tucker informed him, "If you and Delta are able to speed that along, I'll be fucking impressed."

"Never know until we try. Right, D?" York asked the hologram that suddenly appeared over his shoulder.

"That is correct." Delta nodded his green head slightly at the question, before tilting it thoughtfully, "Though I am curious as to why they would be engaging in such an activity to begin with."

His human partner shrugged before trying to give a reason, "They probably just think it's fun."

"I see." The A.I. seemed to not fully understand given the even more pronounced head tilt he gave just then, but seemed willing to at least accept the explanation York had given him all the same.

"It's kind of like whenever I tried getting Carolina to go out on dates when she was in the training room." The Freelancer elaborated further.

Delta nodded, "So, it is a practice in futility then?"

Tucker had to fight with himself desperately to suppress the snicker he had at that moment, something in which he should seriously get a medal for. He even saw Washington raise an amused blonde eyebrow slightly at the A.I.'s comment.

York sighed, "Glad you're back, D." He muttered, face slightly red in embarrassment as he gave a quick wave to Tucker and his friend before heading in the direction of the ice cream bar.

Washington used this opportunity to latch onto the same comment that had so thoroughly confused the A.I. Fragment before, "Why are they making a bowl for Freckles?"

The teal fighter shrugged, "It's Caboose. It's easier sometimes just to go along with his ideas than question them."

Oh boy, had he learned that the hard way over the years. Tucker could have avoided so many unnecessary headaches if he'd just started doing that way earlier when the two were first teamed up together.

"But…" Washington trailed off, but was still frowning as if he wanted to argue the point further.

"Look, dude. It makes Caboose happy and, for some reason, Freckles seems to like it too. It's usually best to keep any intelligent gun happy." Tucker sighed, "Besides, Junior seems to be having fun, so it can't be too bad, right?"

Washington paused, as if debating it inwardly for a moment more before smiling somewhat, "No, I suppose not."

"Good." Tucker grinned back, "Though I'm more shocked to see you here at all."

The blonde sighed, "I suppose there is some merit in these kinds of events." He admitted carefully, "So long as extra work goes into future preparations later."

"There you go!" Tucker's grin became wider just then, "See? You can have fun and still be a fucking killjoy all in the same breath."

The look Washington gave him following that was priceless, "Wanting to make sure a mission as vital as this one succeeds isn't me being a killjoy, Tucker."

No, he wasn't wrong about that. But, fuck it if Tucker was going to concede that easily!

"True, but if we stress ourselves out to death all the time beforehand, how is that going to help anything either?" The Resistance fighter countered.

Washington frowned, "I just said—"

Tucker held up a hand to stop him, "Whatever, dude. I'm just glad you showed up."

That completely shut up whatever retort Washington had on his lips. The Freelancer paused, as if he had to process what Tucker had just said, his freckled face even going momentarily red, "Y—you are?"

Tucker decided it probably wasn't a good time to tease the Above Grounder on the oddly high lilt his voice just acquired, since he was fairly certain if he did that Washington would either walk away or kill him. Maybe both.

"Hell yeah!" The younger man told him instead, "If anyone deserves to relax and celebrate Junior being back home, it's you. Particularly since this whole thing would have probably been a lot crappier if you hadn't helped me out before."

Yeah. Tucker may be the shit, but even he knew that if Four Seven Niner and Washington's impromptu rescue hadn't occurred when it did then Felix and Locus would have killed both him and Doyle on the spot.

Washington said nothing. Given how unreadable his face became just then, Tucker wondered if somehow reminding the Freelancer of how reckless he had been had pissed the other man off again.

Surprisingly, instead, Washington's gray eyes trailed down to Tucker's leg, "How's the injury?"

Suddenly it was Tucker's turn to be a little self-conscious, as he remembered how much care Washington had gone through with treating the gunshot wound when they had been on the ground transport together. The feel of his fingers on his calf, and—

Let's just say, Tucker liked to think he played it off well because he was fucking great at acting.

"O—oh, you know. After you made me visit the crazy doctor when we got here," he continued before Washington could argue with his choice of wording there as he knew the blonde was something of friends with Doctor Grey despite her odd bedside manner, "She said I was pretty much good to go if I don't put too much pressure on it for a while."

"Yet you're going to Sidewinder." The older man said flatly.

"Dude, how can I not when it will literally decide if we all live or die?" Tucker shot back testily, "Besides, Doctor Grey said it will be even better by then. So, shove it!"

"Tucker." Washington seemed to want to argue the point more, but sighed and closed his eyes upon seeing the determined, challenging expression flitting across Tucker's face, "Never mind then." He conceded, before looking at the Resistance fighter standing there again with a slight frown, "But shouldn't you at least be resting it now?"

"I was." Tucker smirked, "But, I wanted to make sure I caught up with you before you decided to split without saying anything."

Washington stared at him then as if he had just grown a second head, looking shocked and oddly red-faced once more.

Tucker carried on, "Like I said, you definitely deserve to be here, Wash. So, stick around."

Washington opened his mouth to say something, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides, before apparently calming himself and deciding against it. Instead, he nodded mutely and glanced in the direction of the ice cream bar and Junior.

"How…is he?" He finally haltingly asked, tone serious, "I can only imagine…"

Tucker caught his sentiment even after he had trailed off uncomfortably, no doubt afraid to finish the comment in front of the child's father, "Yeah, Junior has definitely been through shit and you can tell." He glanced from his son to Washington again, "But, you said it yourself, remember? He's strong."

The Slums dweller waved an arm out over the entire bunker as he continued, "Plus, Junior doesn't have just me, but a whole shitload of people here backing him up too."

Weirdoes and assholes though most of them might be, but they all definitely had Junior's back when push came to shove. Tucker had never been more grateful for that than he had been these last few days.

Washington nodded, looking slightly assured at the sentiment, "He's lucky."

"Damn straight!" Tucker grinned again, a sudden thought crossing his mind at the Freelancer's obvious concern for his kid, "What to say hi?"

Washington stared at him in open surprise at the question, apparently thinking himself too much an outsider in this group still for that to have been a remote plausibility, "But—!"

"You're already met him, remember? Reintroductions are easy." Tucker reasoned, "This way you can see how he's doing for himself instead of just asking me."

The blonde gave a sharp shake of his head, "I don't want to intrude—!"

"Trust me, Wash, I wouldn't have offered if it was some major hoopla." Tucker informed him, "Besides, he's asked about you."

That caused Washington to pause, "He has?"

A nod, "You did help Sarge, C.T., and everyone else save him. Remember?" He recounted Junior's version of the events leading to his rescue from Above Ground custody, "Plus, you brought me back too. That makes you a pretty big hero in his book!"

Washington's eyes widened, the notion apparently too implausible for him to fully comprehend.

"Don't want to get your hopes up too high, but you might have gotten even higher on his esteem list than Freckles." Tucker informed the Freelancer in a conspiratorial whisper.

He raised a blonde eyebrow, "The gun he's helping Caboose pick ice cream for."

"Yeah, talking guns are pretty hard to beat on a kid's hero list." Tucker intoned seriously.

It was pretty true, actually. Particularly when said talking gun also shot out confetti. The Slums dweller was fairly certain he would have even volunteered to be Caboose's best friend if he was Junior's age and had seen that.

Washington smiled slightly, "I guess I should be honored then."

"Absolutely." The Resistance fighter grinned back at him.

Since the Above Grounder hadn't seemed too willing to move just yet, Tucker acted without thinking because he was fairly certain he wouldn't have had the nerve to do so at all, reaching out and grasping one of Washington's hands.

"T—Tucker?" Washington reacted to the sudden contact, but he didn't recoil or pull back as Tucker halfway suspected he might being caught off-guard.

The younger man took that as a good sign, smiling encouragingly before turning around and walking towards where Junior and the others were, Washington seemingly still so stunned he simply followed behind him.

"Come on, let's go!" Tucker didn't notice the slight hitch in his voice just then, though the heat on his face was a whole lot harder to ignore.

There was silence from behind him for a second, before Washington actually chuckled.

"Dude, that is sort of creepy." Tucker remarked, still not daring to look back in fear that he would completely lose his nerve at this point and realize what he was doing, "I didn't know you could laugh."

Washington didn't rise to that particular bait, apparently too amused by the situation for that, "I was just thinking," he said instead, "About all of the times you kept joking about me wanting to hold hands."

"Oh, yeah?" Tucker glanced back finally, not sure if he wanted to know where this was going as his heart was speeding up now too.

"Now you're doing the same." Washington mused.

Tucker rolled his eyes, the heat on his face feeling like an inferno at this point, "I'll buy you dinner later if you want." He offered, remembering how his comments had usually gone in the past when it came to all of the "hand holding" events before changing his mind, "No, fuck it! We're at an ice cream party. Just eat some of that with me and Junior."

"Deal." The smile in Washington's voice was oddly noticeable and comforting in a way Tucker would not have expected before now.

When Washington's fingers suddenly squeezed back tightly around Tucker's own, the teal-armored man was more than just a little surprised at how happy he felt at the way too familiar gesture by this point. He wasn't, however, sure what to make at how weak both his knees suddenly felt just then.

Despite the redness of his face though, Tucker really didn't want to let go of Washington's hand even after they reached the table and the others.

---

It had only taken Bitters a few hours to decide to bail on the party.

Not that he didn't think the idea of blowing off steam was a sound one, nor that they didn't deserve the chance to do so before quite possibly not being able to stop the destruction of the Slums below them.

But, he wasn't in as high of spirits at the prospect as his friends were currently, and dragging them down as a result of his own attitude wasn't something he was too keen on doing.

He knew that the captains who were present in the bunker deserved the respite, as did his friends. Junior most certainly deserved it too following the reunion with his dad.

Plus, He'd been a bit of a dick to Palomo in particular following recent events. So, if having ice cream with a half-alien child and talking comics with Jensen tonight without Bitters' patented brand of extreme sarcasm getting in the way would in some small way make up for that to the private, Bitters could do that. Especially for a childhood friend who, in his own odd and annoying manner, had really only been trying to be helpful.

His bailing on the party really had nothing to do with the fact that a certain yellow-trimmed lieutenant hadn't shown up at all for it.

That was only, like, forty percent of Bitters' reasoning. Fifty tops.

When the kiss-ass didn't want to be found, it was apparently near impossible to track him down. Yet, in every other instance, he was always sure to pop up at the worst possible time.

The whole thing would almost be comical if it wasn't for the fact that Bitters had been trying to talk privately with Matthews since getting out of the clinic.

Now it was seriously just starting to piss him off, and anyone who shrugged and thought "So what else is new?" about that was going to get punched in the fucking face.

So, here Bitters was now patrolling through the bunker while looking for his friend. Fuck, he couldn't even say roommate anymore because Matthews had started sleeping different hours in order to avoid talking to him.

The lieutenant passed by a few other Resistance fighters who had also opted out of the festivities, either to have time to themselves or to prepare more for the upcoming offensive. He occasionally stopped to ask one of them if they had seen Matthews, but beyond vague recollections of way earlier in the day which were most likely useless by this point, there was nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Agent Tex cleaning her weapons for the umpteenth time. Scarily proficient as she was with them, given how much care she seemed to put into their upkeep, they were liable to temporarily blind an opponent even before she pulled the triggers. The second her dark eyes landed on him, a red eyebrow raised slightly as if challenging him to even attempt to ask her something. Naturally, the younger man darted away as fast as he could.

Yeah, it was probably safer to ask practically anyone else instead. He'd heard the rumors about what happened to people who wasted the former Freelancer's time with whatever she deemed as "pointless" small talk.

Rounding another corner, Bitters wandered unknowingly into the shower area. From the sound of the water running, it seemed as if someone was using the free time to their advantage.

Maybe it was Matthews. Catching him coming out of the shower would definitely make it difficult for the slightly younger lieutenant to try getting away without talking first.

Before thinking about how incredibly stupid that line of reasoning was, he had stepped into the room. In hindsight later, Bitters would note that unintentionally trapping someone in the showers probably wouldn't have turned out that well either, but for entirely different reasons than the nightmare-inducing scene he ended up witnessing.

Instead of Matthews, he walked into the shower room only to hear all too familiar giggling and whispered voices that were clearly not intended for eavesdroppers. Yeah, the rookie quickly realized he had concocted the dumbest plan ever and was now going to get punished for it.

Seriously. There wasn't enough steam in the world to cover up the very naked bodies of Captain Donut and the Above Ground medic named DuFresne who had come here earlier that day. They were both plastered together, extremely wet and under a single running showerhead.

"O—oh, hey, Bitters!"

Donut, to his credit, while just about as lightish-red as his armor from his feet up to the tips of his hair, seemed to recover from the shock of someone walking in on them much quicker than an increasingly red Doc did and even smiled sheepishly, "What's up?"

The lieutenant couldn't be certain if the blush Donut was sporting was due to the heat of the shower or his intrusion and, frankly, Bitters really didn't want to dwell on it either way.

Doc finally managed to squeak out, "S—sorry about that! We maybe should have remembered to have closed the stall door, huh?"

Even in their shock at him stumbling in on them, both of them were still trying to be polite. It nearly broke Bitters' brain to think about it.

Especially when he considered just how frantic they must have been to have forgotten about that stall door detail. At least, judging by the haphazard pile of clothes strewn about the space now that he was actually actively looking around at anywhere else but them.

Bitters mumbled an apology and was backing away as quick as he possibly could, only catching glimpses of Doc's hands on Donut's backside and the water running down their bodies. He tried focusing on anything else instead again, like the pink-framed glasses that were resting on top of Donut's dirty blonde hair now. They were Doc's, he was pretty sure.

Doc lowered his head down to connect their lips again just as Bitters turned the corner once more and the showers were thankfully out of sight, probably in an attempt to drown out any lingering embarrassment the couple had over the interruption and to continue what they'd been in the middle of.

Bitters' face felt like a fucking furnace by that point. No wonder the two of them had left even earlier than he had despite Captain Donut's well-known love of mingling at social events.

Not that he could blame them, really. He knew that something had happened earlier in the Slums between the two of them during those fake peace talks. Now that the two of them had the chance to reconnect for a moment at least before things kicked up again, it was in a way completely understandable that they would want that time together.

Bitters just hoped one of them would remember to close the stall door at some point so that they didn't get walked in on again.

When he backtracked past Tex once more, the woman looked up and caught the lingering redness on his face and fucking smirked. Bitters couldn't help but have a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly what it was he had just seen. The former Freelancer must have thought his reaction would be too amusing, so she simply neglected to warn him about it beforehand.

Not that he would ever accuse Tex of that to her face, of course. He hopefully wanted to live past this night.

Bitters hurried past the mythic cybernetic shark-lady of Project Freelancer, going a different route this time around that passed by the makeshift clinic.

It didn't take him too long afterwards to find Matthews, actually.

Thankfully, by that point, the lingering blush from his accidental intrusion onto Doc and Donut's "shower time" had faded for the most part.

It looked like Matthews was doing inventory on some of the large weapons crates that had been in the bunker when Tex had "acquired" it for her future use. The auburn-haired rookie's back was turned towards him. His teammate was peering into a crate that he apparently had just opened, which probably explained why he was even still around in the first place.

If he had seen Bitters coming this way earlier, the orange-trimmed lieutenant would have only seen a fleeting glimpse of Matthews' back as he made a speedy get-away since that had been how most encounters between them had gone since he had been let out of the clinic.

Bitters took a deep breath. He was suddenly, and annoyingly, nervous about what he should say now that he finally had the chance.

So, he settled on: "Still trying to kiss-ass, huh?"

Matthews flinched at his voice, glancing over his shoulder at Bitters cautiously.

The space in-between the crates wasn't too wide and Bitters was standing in front of it, so the younger lieutenant would probably have to shove him out of the way first if he wanted to get past him.

Which the auburn-haired fighter actually seemed to be contemplating, given how his eyes were darting everywhere.

Bitters raised his hands quickly, "I don't want to yell this time, Matthews."

"A—are you sure?" His teammate sounded nervous and tearful again, but there was definitely a trace of anger still in his voice just as there had been before, "Because you never finished it the last time."

Yeah, when Matthews had run off practically crying and Doctor Grey had all but threatened to castrate Bitters with a shot if he didn't stop interrupting the healing process for everyone else at the clinic with his constant anger issues.

He grimaced slightly, "I didn't mean to—"

"To what, Bitters?" Matthews seemed to be getting angrier as the seconds flew by, remembering apparently exactly how the argument had played out, "Call me a stupid kiss-ass again? Threaten to tie me to a bed?"

Bitters winced at the reminder of that last one in particular. Yeah, Matthews probably had more than enough right to be pissed off with him at the moment.

But, fuck it! He had been angry back then too!

"I wasn't thinking straight and I'm sorry." Bitters shot back quickly, "But, you weren't really any better either if you thought going on that crazy mission was a good idea."

"Why?" In the heat of the moment, Matthews took a step forward, glaring at him from behind his glasses, "Kaikaina and Volleyball went and things were fine."

"Yeah, but they fucking could have not been just as easily." Bitters countered, surprised at how calm his voice sounded this time around, "Plus, neither of them had been put on restricted activity by Doctor Grey due to injury!"

Bitters made a mental note to himself that if he probably had gone with this angle to begin with earlier, then they could have not experienced the last couple of days of uncomfortable avoidance entirely.

Matthews seemed to deflate slightly at the intense, albeit much more rational argument Bitters was throwing his way this time, "B—but—"

"Matthews." Bitters stepped closer then, causing the other lieutenant to blink rapidly at the sudden realization of their proximity to one another.

When the glasses-wearing rookie stepped back, he walked right into the crate he had been organizing moments earlier. His hands had gone up in front of him again, and Matthews was in process of playing with his fingers like he always did when he was nervous. If there had been space to do so, Bitters was fairly certain he would have started pacing too.

Bitters frowned, reaching out and grabbing Matthews' hands with his own. The action immediately caused the auburn-haired young man to go rigid. Matthews' wide eyes looked into his own, and Bitters gave the hands in his a reassuring squeeze.

"Believe me, I was pissed off at all of our dumbass friends for going." He continued, "But, you were the dumbass who got injured hauling my even more dumbass self to safety earlier."

Matthews was staring at their hands now, frowning himself as he processed what Bitters had just said and tried coming up with something to respond with.

"I…" He started stuttering, "T—that's because…"

"We're teammates, I know." Bitters cut him off, knowing that if he didn't they would be here forever, "But, if you got even more injured following that? Or worse…"

He trailed off, really unsure of whether or not it would be a good idea to continue in that vein. He dropped Matthews' hands and they fell limply to the other's sides then, the young man looking at him with an utterly lost expression on his face.

"I don't—"

That's when Bitters remembered how much of an idiot Matthews could be when it came to reading whatever this was between them. Given how everything could possibly play out soon, Bitters decided to just mentally say "fuck it!" and go for it.

"I'm sorry, okay?" He let out in a quick, sincere breath. Before Matthews could respond, Bitters had reached out and pulled the surprised lieutenant into a tight embrace, his mouth pressing against his desperately.

Matthews' arms were pressed into his sides, and he didn't respond to the kiss at all beyond his eyes going impossibly larger than they'd already been before.

Bitters pulled away reluctantly a few seconds later, gripping Matthews' shoulders and watching his entire face heat up red starting from the neck.

"S—sorry for that too, I guess." He murmured as Matthews continued staring at nothing in particular, feeling very guilty that he'd done that at all and probably fucked things up with his friend as a result.

His voice caused Matthews to blink, and his teammate looked over at the brown-haired man still lightly holding onto his shoulders questioningly as his gaze darted from some of the colorful strands of dyed hair resting on top of Bitters' head still back to his eyes when he gained the nerve to do so.

"It was…nerves. Or something," Bitters tried to explain weakly, hoping just to not get his teammate upset with him again for what he had done, "So we can ig—"

Now it was his turn to get cut off in mid-sentence, because Matthews was hugging him and, red-faced and shaking from nerves as much as he was, Bitters was surprised when the timid kiss-ass darted his head forward to quickly peck his cheek with his lips.

"P—probably nerves too, I—I think." The auburn-haired lieutenant joked awkwardly as he began pulling away.

It took Bitters only a second to process what had happened. Then he was grinning and grabbing Matthews again, holding on like the other young man was a fucking lifeline. He locked his lips onto Matthews' again with a need he had only just started becoming more fully aware of for the other lieutenant just a short while ago.

This time, Matthews was responding. A bit unsure and awkwardly, but just as eager and desperate as Bitters was.

When Bitters asked for entrance with his tongue to deepen the kiss, he was readily admitted. Bitters was pretty sure at some point that he had lost all track of time, and he honestly couldn't have cared less.

When they finally pulled away again, Bitters looked down at the out-of-breath Matthews and smiled, playing with the other's fingers absent-mindedly as he had wanted to do that for so long, ever since he'd first started noticing that nervous habit of his roommate's, "Wanna…go continue this elsewhere?"

Matthews, contended looking but red-faced still, took a few seconds to catch on to what Bitters was asking, "Um, Kaikaina and Volleyball claimed dibs on the sleeping area earlier."

Judging by how much redder the other lieutenant got at that and his sudden fidgeting, Bitters could guess as to what they were doing in there. He wasn't about to unintentionally interrupt another intimate moment of someone else's.

Bitters sighed, frustrated because he knew knowing the way his luck was that one of their friends would probably be walking by at any second and, in that case, Matthews would then knock him over to bolt.

Although why had he even fucking thought about that in the first place when all he wanted at this moment was to keep kissing Matthews and never fucking let go of his hand again?

"T—there's a storage closet for equipment not too far away from here." Matthews suggested awkwardly, the blush nearly turning purple on his skin now, "I—I was going to check it out next for inventory."

"Suck up." The term was said fondly this time though, as Bitters absently tucked a strand of loose hair behind Matthews' ear.

Actually, doing any inventory was the farthest thing from either of their minds when they reached the spot.

Fuck, in fact they actually knocked quite a few things down from the shelves and, for once, Matthews was in no hurry to tidy up. Bitters didn't even complain when one of the spare helmets crashed down onto his head.

He gripped Matthews' hand again, kissing his jaw and relishing the feeling of Matthews' other hand at the back of his head, soothingly rubbing the bump forming there from the fallen helmet.

Right now, all that fucking mattered to Bitters was that they were together. Everything else could fucking wait just a bit longer.

---

The night air was colder than Richard "Dick" Simmons had expected it to be, and he wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to shield his body. Which, admittedly, wasn't the best idea considering that one of his arms was more metal than muscle and always at a slightly lower body temperature as a result. But, instincts were what they were regardless of fact.

The bag full of food that he had gotten for Grif's dinner was constantly slinging against his side as he walked. The cyborg would have to lower his arms to halt the rather annoying repetition, which his body really was reluctant to do all the same as his brain kept screaming at him about how chilly it was.

He sighed as he neared his family's home. The Above Grounder's mind went reeling back to the meeting he had just had at Carolina's safe house, which was actually the main reason behind the current bile building-up in his throat.

By "meeting," Simmons really meant "standing there trying to get a stammering word in while Church shouted expletives and Carolina cleaned weaponry oh-so-subtly in the background in a way that really wasn't threatening at all. Nope!"

Church didn't get the idea behind give-and-take situations and team meetings all that well. The second that the cyborg had entered the premises, the ghost-turned-A.I. had informed him without preamble that the time table for the Resistance's battle over the relic at Sidewinder was definitely set now. That Sheila and Doc had already been sent to their base of operations because things here in the city were getting far too risky for all of them to stick around after the shit they had pulled.

Church went on to say that even if Grif wasn't in the best condition yet, they should both leave as well. The sooner, the better. No bitching or arguments.

From the sound of things with the finality in his leader's voice, as well as the even more guarded look in Carolina's green eyes whenever Simmons did gather up the nerve to look her way during Church's rant, he had a feeling that neither of them would be coming along.

As much as Simmons would have wanted to argue about all of that for a variety of reasons that he thought were perfectly fucking sensible, he knew it would be a waste of time and he really wasn't sure if he wanted to see the robot equivalent of a blood vessel bursting if he attempted it.

The redhead wasn't even going to try to imagine what Carolina would have done had he tried arguing. Though he figured it would have likely involved ripping his cybernetic arm off and beating him over the head with it until he saw their reasoning, which would also be pretty unpleasant.

Carolina had set up the safe house's terminals to activate if anything remotely interesting or different in routine programming occurred, just to keep a close eye on all information channels they had access to so they all saw the news announcement from Hargrove that came on at the near end of Church's tirade.

It pretty much confirmed that they were running out of time to stop whatever plans he had involving the relic. His takeover of The Council hadn't helped buy them much in that regard.

In fact, that had pretty much been the big cincher that, in Church's mind, pretty much proved his point for him. He looked over at Simmons with a smirk on his goateed face after the press conference, just daring him to try to counter his order too much following it considering what the speech obviously represented.

So now, Simmons was on his way back to his own house while thinking about all sorts of things and trying desperately not to puke or hyperventilate in the process.

The redhead figured he would have to try to play it off like it was nothing tonight though. Getting Grif upset wasn't going to do anything but make things that much worse. Especially since Simmons still had to convince the dumbass he needed to take a fucking shower and let him help with the bandaging afterwards now that he knew neither Doc or Sheila were anywhere around.

He could bring up what Church had said tomorrow, while figuring out the best possible arrangements for heading out to the Resistance without doing too much damage to Grif's healing injuries in the process.

Pushy asshole that he was, Church had said that both he and Carolina would help as they could on that front. Though Simmons had a feeling it was said more to just get him to agree to go in the first place as soon as possible without too much protest.

Easing into it was the best approach, most likely. At least looking at it from what would be best for Grif's health.

By the time Simmons opened the front door, he had almost convinced himself that things would be fine, or at least as close to fine as they could get given how generally sucky this whole situation was. He at least had convinced himself enough so that he could hopefully hide his worry from Grif for the moment.

But that was before he stepped inside and absentmindedly brought the lights on with a waving hand motion by the panel near the entrance to the house, finding the chubby Slums dweller in question standing shakily by the bottom of the stairs. The tan-skinned man's eyes were wide while his face had taken on a disturbingly purple hue.

Grif was gasping heavily, as if he was struggling to get air into his lungs, no doubt why his face had changed to that color. There were very noticeable red splotches seeping through several of the bandages covering his body.

Any planning Simmons had tried orchestrating in his head minutes before fell by the wayside at the sight, as did the bag full of food that slid down his suddenly limp arm and crashed onto the floor as the door closed behind him.

"G—Grif?"

The Above Grounder wasn't sure what had happened since he had left.

Grif recently started moving around more once he had begun feeling slightly better, but this was by far the farthest he had ever moved. The Resistance fighter hadn't even been downstairs since they had brought him here until this moment. It looked as if the movement had definitely taken a toll on him.

His body language in general was just off too. Something about it was way too familiar to Simmons, even if he couldn't entirely place why. It was sending alarm bells through the cyborg's head.

Simmons didn't even want to dwell on the blood. Or the fact that it really seemed like it was near impossible for Grif to get any air into his lungs. Or that he just looked terrified at the moment.

The Above Grounder's own anxiety suddenly increased about twenty times what it had been before, and his stomach lurched. Any second now, the cyborg was fairly certain he'd feel like he couldn't breathe either, even if he didn't have lungs to begin with anymore.

Trying not to get too caught up in his growing urge to panic, the cyborg reached out to steady Grif since the other man seemed to not be too steady on his feet at the moment, stepping back slightly when Grif shied away from his outstretched hands as if his touch would burn him.

It was as if he hadn't really seen Simmons at all up until just then, and the sudden proximity had startled him even more.

"It's…happening soon, isn't it?" Grif wheezed out with quite a bit of visible effort, and Simmons winced at how shallow his breathing was.

The Above Grounder blinked, not quite understanding the question since he was still trying to avoid freaking out over this whole situation himself, "Wha—?"

"D—don't play dumb, Simmons!" It was more of a strained plea than an actual shout, and Grif winced as if in pain, "You left your fucking terminal on."

If Simmons actually still had lungs, he had a feeling this would be the time when his own breathing would have turned shallow as a sinking realization overcame him just then.

Oh, shit. Hargrove's news broadcast.

He'd been out of sorts when he had left earlier that day. Nearly blurting out that he had thought Grif was attractive and then getting into the very heavy topic of asshole father was a surefire way for that to happen.

The redhead had turned on the terminal in his room before he had left just to check something really quick, and hadn't remembered to turn it off because by then he had been late for the meeting time that Carolina had insisted on before and…yeah, he hadn't wanted to be late for a lot of fairly obvious reasons.

Simmons' blood ran cold at the pained look still on Grif's features as he waited for an answer to his earlier question, and he nodded mutely in reply as his voice suddenly stuck in his throat.

"That means…they're heading out soon, then." The Slums dweller stated, and Simmons knew that Grif meant the Resistance given why they had come to Above Ground in the first place.

The cyborg nodded again, wincing slightly himself as Grif roughly dropped onto the bottom of the stairs then. Evidently, given his current mindset, he was oblivious to the fact that his body still wasn't in the best condition for that type of sudden movement.

"I've just been stuck here." There was a definite note of pain to Grif's voice then, as if he could possibly cry but was trying not to.

"That—that couldn't be helped!" Simmons found his voice then, the distress in the other man's demeanor enough to push him into action, "You needed to recover! Everyone was so relieved that the rescue mission succeeded that they just wanted you to rest and—"

"Everyone?" Grif cut off Simmons' rambling, staring at him incredulously, "You mean it wasn't just you and your team who pulled me out?"

The redhead paused then, the odd look that was crossing over Grif's features at this new information making him a little unsure of just how to respond to the question.

Though Grif seemed pretty adept at reading his face for cues all the same.

"So they risked their lives to save mine on top of all of the other dangerous shit we came here to deal with in the first place?" The tan-skinned man seemed immensely upset at the prospect.

"…And Tucker's son too." Simmons added in weakly.

"So, Tucker helped too then. Okay." Grif nodded slightly, as if counting off in his head, "Who else, Simmons?"

Simmons said nothing, and Grif stood up on wobbly feet once more, taking a step forward, "I bet Donut and C.T. helped too. Maybe even Sarge just to rub it in my face later." He started, grimacing the whole while, "And the lieutenants too because they're all too damn eager for their own good."

Grif stopped abruptly, just a couple meters away from the Above Grounder now.

"Did Kai come along too?" He asked him, letting out a pained laugh as he did so, "I bet she did. She's been stupidly throwing her life away for her worthless big brother for years now."

"That isn't—!"

"None of you should have bothered, Simmons." Grif cut him off flatly, "Wanting to save Junior I could understand, but I sure as fuck wasn't worth the effort. Especially with Hargrove still left to deal with." He smiled derisively, "If someone had died…if Kai or you had, that would have—"

"If you had died, what would have happened to me or Kai then?" Simmons countered, suddenly feeling angry.

Grif stopped in the middle of his rant then, staring at Simmons as if he had just grown two heads.

"Kai fucking loves you because you were the one who raised her, jackass." Simons moved forward then, refraining from stabbing a finger into Grif's shoulder for added emphasis only because the bandages were there and that red was making him want to panic himself. He needed to be more upset and angry than fearful at the moment, to keep Grif from doing something extremely stupid in the next few minutes, "If I lost you, I would have nothing."

"What?" Grif was completely taken aback by the sudden outburst from Simmons, and what he had just said during it.

At this point, normally Simmons would most likely have completely freaked out over that last part he just admitted to in particular. It had been way too close to a confession that he had told himself he would never actually say because there was no way it would be reciprocated, but at this point his brain was pretty much saying fuck it.

"My mother is dead. My entire career as a soldier is a goddamned lie. My cybernetics were just really shitty spyware, and my father is a fucking asshole who knew the entire time and didn't even care."

"…You never said anything about that later stuff before." Grif's voice was quiet when he finally spoke up following the cyborg's outburst, almost hurt sounding.

His attention was now on Simmons' cybernetic eye, hands twitching at his sides as if he was tempted to reach out and touch it since Simmons had mentioned the enhancements just then.

"You were injured and I didn't want to worry you!" Simmons' voice was shrill at this point, and, damn it, his vision was blurry, "Grif, if I lost you then I…!"

He paused, unable to finish that thought out loud.

If he lost Grif, he would have nothing.

Grif was the one bond he had created and decided on for himself, all those years ago. The person he had ended up falling hard for even if he knew it had been a really pointless and dumb thing to do.

The thought of what would have happened had they not gotten him out of that torture chamber? Simmons could barely get through the fake motion of breathing his body still did just thinking about it.

That was when he realized why seeing Grif acting that way had upset and freaked him out so much. He had recognized a panic attack from an outside perspective, and seeing Grif going through it at this instance was causing him to begin going through one himself.

Something akin to understanding flickered in Grif's brown eyes following Simmons' outburst, and suddenly he was taking the few steps towards Simmons that remained between them. The pale man flinched this time, afraid of a punch or shouting or…

The sudden warmth surrounding him as Grif pulled him into an embrace caught him completely off-guard, however, and he stood there dumbly for a minute before what was happening began to register in his mind.

"G—Grif?" Simmons choked again, cursing himself for it as he wrapped his arms around Grif tightly all the same and buried his head in Grif's neck.

Grif's hug tightened at the contact despite the discomfort he was most likely in, and Simmons started slightly a second later when he felt the Slums dweller moving his hands to trace circles on Simmons' back.

It was the same type of comforting gesture he remembered using himself to reassure Grif in the past, and the cyborg shuddered slightly at the contact while resisting the urge to cry that suddenly welled up in him.

"Simmons. Sorry, sorry." Grif was practically murmuring in his ear due to their close proximity, breath warm and tingling against the shell, "It's all right."

"Grif, I—"

Simmons felt something wet on his shirt and frowned, cutting off what he was about to say and reluctantly pulling away from the embrace and the reassuring warmth of Grif's fingers moving over his back to observe that one of the larger cuts on Grif's chest had now definitely reopened. The blood was spilling from the injury enough now to have begun dripping out of the thick bandage that was wrapped around it.

As important as this conversation was, and Simmons knew he still had one thing he needed to say in particular to Grif before all was said and done, the sight of the bleeding had him shifting his priorities once again.

"Right now, Grif, we need to get you cleaned up."

---

Simmons' emotional outburst had certainly helped to pull Grif back from the ledge he had been on since waking up to that fucking asshole Hargrove talking about the "anniversary surprise" he was planning.

Though, in its wake, there were now a whole lot of other things for his brain to contend with.

One of the largest ones that kept flaring to life in the back of his skull with all of the subtlety of that horrible light sign over the "Randy Offering" back in the Slums was that he was fairly fucking sure that, even if Simmons hadn't managed to actually say anything along those lines just then, he cared more for Grif than just as a friend.

In hindsight, there had probably been some pretty massive clues to that which Grif just hadn't picked up on, especially if what his friends and Kai always said were remotely true. Kai had always said that she thought his obliviousness in that department was especially hilarious.

Given his own reaction to that personal realization, Grif was pretty damn sure he felt the same for the nerd. Fuck it! He probably had for a really long while now, if he was being completely honest with himself.

Really, the sex dreams he'd started having involving the redhead a few years ago maybe should have been a big tipoff.

But, he'd tried his hardest to just not think too deeply on it given the general suckiness of everything. Besides, the situation between the Slums and Above Ground kind of made it hard to imagine that even being a remote possibility.

Long distance relationships were a pain in the ass, even if the two of them did somehow always manage to coincidentally bump into each other at the weirdest fucking times. Add to that a war involving a guy trying to wipe out everyone who lived in his home and, yeah, that certainly made things trickier.

But, even with that dawning crystallization looming over Grif, there were so many other things going on too coming into play as well. The aforementioned war and genocidal dick also being top priorities, as well as his friends and family being way too big of risk takers to continue staying healthy and alive.

He supposed Simmons' immediate concern over him bleeding all over the carpet was also pretty valid given the context of their talk just now.

Light-headed and filled to the brim with all sorts of really heady and barely processed emotions and troubling thoughts, as well as more than just a little woozy from the sudden exertion and just starting to get back into a proper breathing routine to boot, he didn't fight when Simmons gripped one of his hands in his and led him gently back up the stairs.

Grif wasn't even too aware of a lot of the things that happened afterwards. Simmons wordlessly helped him remove the bandages once he realized the Slums dweller wasn't going to argue about it with him.

He heard the maroon soldier let out a sharp intake of breath when he saw the aggravated condition a lot of Grif's cuts were in now.

Many of the wounds had started to reopen due to the sudden and very jerky moves that the Resistance fighter had made when in his "flight" mode and running down the stairs. He had been trying to avoid moving too quickly because Doc had warned him specifically that could potentially happen, but that concern had completely slipped his mind in the heat of the moment. He hadn't even really felt any pain just then.

No, the "burning" in his lungs and the deep-seated fear that overcame him whenever he felt that way tended to, oddly enough, shut most other types of discomfort out. He hated the nightmares he had now since so often they brought him back to that mindset as well, but he supposed it was a twisted sort of natural pain killer that way. Though Grif, having experienced it more than enough already even before this whole torture incident, would definitely have preferred any other alternative to it.

Simmons seemed to sense that now was probably not the best time to chide Grif over having inadvertently done that to his body while it was still in the process of healing, probably because he had been more than just a tad freaked out himself over the condition he had found the tan man in when he had walked through the door from whatever errand he had been gone on.

Though the twisting look crossing over the redhead's features, as if he was just barely keeping himself from crying, made Grif feel like an ass anyways.

The Above Grounder mumbled something about getting the bandages and medicine ready with an "I—I'll be right outside until you need me." mumbled under his breath as he exited because Grif still insisted on showering by himself at least.

The Slums dweller knew he had to concede on the bandage part, even if he dreaded it. There was no fucking way that Simmons was going to even let him half-ass that given what he had seen of Grif's condition just then.

The water stung horribly the second it hit his skin and the medicated wash, for all of Doc's talk on it being "soothing," really wasn't any better. Grif was wincing and cursing under his breath the entire time, hoping Simmons didn't pick up on it with whatever extra-sensitive cybernetic hearing he had now.

Considering how worried he had made Simmons in the last few minutes alone, not even taking into account everything the nerd, Kai, and the others had risked to get Grif here regardless of how insanely stupid that whole thing was? Well, he really didn't want to stress the redhead out anymore at this point.

Sometimes there were instances where it just wasn't good to be an ass. In his opinion, they didn't come too often, but he felt like now was definitely one of them.

The blood was running down his body in rivulets that made the entire floor beneath him red. He gritted his teeth and avoided looking down as he finished up.

Definitely not a good idea to make yourself even more light-headed and woozy when in the shower, and he could nearly fake his brain into assuming that the unsettling imagery of flashes of red he saw was more because of the water diluting everything rather than having to look at the more visible and reopened cuts on his flesh.

The second he had turned the water off, Simmons was there again with fresh dressing and bandages. Judging by the anxious look in his eyes, the other man had no doubt been waiting impatiently by the door just in case Grif had passed out or something in there.

That only partially made Grif feel somewhat annoyed. He could take care of himself, after all, even if he might bitch about having to do work and right now he actually didn't feel too great. But, mostly it made him feel…well, he wasn't sure what.

A very large portion of the Slums dweller actually felt rather touched by the concern, and he was really hoping that didn't show on his face or anything too obviously since the whole thing between them was sort of very awkward right now.

Simmons helped him redress and bandage his body, in particular his back and lower legs so that he wouldn't have to bend too much and potentially aggravate the wounds anymore. The medicine that was applied at this stage, thankfully, was actually a hell of a lot more tolerable to Grif. Actually, it felt oddly cool even on the cuts and scrapes that were just now beginning to stop bleeding heavily like they had been doing.

Grif tried really hard not to feel self-conscious about the way his body looked throughout the whole thing, or how Simmons' fingers gliding over it produced a tingling sensation that neither Doc's nor Sheila's ever had.

Fuck. Even with the fact that the salve was pretty damn cold when it made contact with skin, or that he always remembered Simmons' artificial hand feeling noticeably colder than his organic one, for some reason both felt oddly hot in this instance and Grif did his best to try not really focusing on that either.

Simmons, for his part, also seemed to be trying desperately to just focus on the task at hand. More than likely still freaking out over what had happened himself and perhaps not thinking this exact moment was the best time to really be dwelling on it overly much.

But, there was a very noticeable tinge of pink on his face right up to the plating. Whenever Grif risked looking at his eyes for a split second before he lost his nerve, Simmons would quickly do the same, finding whatever bandage he was holding at that moment insanely fascinating.

Apparently, after several tense minutes of awkward silence, the redhead had decided it might be best to start up some kind of dialogue again. When he finally spoke after what appeared to be an intense inner-debate, his voice was still at its higher decibel that indicated he was pretty nervous. But, it seemed as if, by the almost conversational tone he was going for, the cyborg was attempting to be casual to help put both himself and Grif at ease.

"You—you freaked me out back there." Simmons finally said, only slightly haltingly, "I've never seen you that panicked before, except maybe the…one time."

Grif didn't have to be a genius to know from the way Simmons' head dropped slightly and the wince that crossed his features that he was referring to the hostage situation from awhile ago. Grif had nearly passed out from being unable to breathe back then too. He even remembered a guilt-ridden Simmons trying to comfort him then as well.

Yeah, in hindsight, so many things should have been obvious to him a lot earlier than now.

Focusing on going for that same level of forced casual that Simmons was attempting with mixed success, Grif shrugged nonchalantly and only slightly frowned at the pain in the back of his right shoulder in particular that motion caused. Probably reopened a wound there, he would wager. It had been one of the first places the asshole Felix-wannabe had stabbed and dragged the knife through. He'd been with it a lot more in the beginning portion of that whole session, so he remembered it pretty well.

"It happens occasionally." He finally informed the cyborg, "Ever since the Level One incident."

"Oh." Simmons was moving to his torso, and a frown was on his face as if he was contemplating just how to respond to that.

Grif knew how inquisitive the Above Grounder was, but how he was probably afraid to mention anything too upsetting or painful for someone as well. No doubt those two sides of him were having a very heady debate currently as to how to approach the conversation from there.

The Slums dweller took pity on him and further elaborated, "Still can't do heights at all."

Simmons stilled completely at the remark, perhaps not quite sure how to take it since Grif had said it so indifferently. It was old news to him by now, really. Yeah, it actually did suck in a lot of ways and he wasn't too proud of it, but he'd learned to accept it all the same.

A look of recognition crossed over the cyborg's face and he frowned, "So, that time when I mentioned going up to the rafters…?"

"Well, you were drunk so it wasn't a good idea to begin with." Grif joked slightly, though his expression became serious in the next moment as his eyes took on a faraway look, "But, yeah, that was a big part of it too."

"It had been your favorite spot." Simmons recalled, nostalgic and sad all at once.

"The best napping spot in the whole Slums." He nodded his head at the recollection, smiling wistfully, "I tried going up there once. After." The Resistance fighter confessed, "Nearly passed out on the ladder."

"You didn't say anything." Simmons sounded hurt, and Grif couldn't help but feel a little guilty about that despite the very big reveals Simmons had inadvertently only just recently told him too.

He smiled slightly in apology and in something of a self-deprecating way, "Actually, I hadn't told anyone about it. Until now." He caught Simmons' eyes to make sure his meaning was understood, "I didn't want to worry them about stuff that couldn't be changed."

All too well, he definitely understood Simmons' reasoning from earlier too.

Simmons contemplated that for a moment and, for a second, Grif wondered if he would have to elaborate further. He hoped not. Talking about that kind of stuff was way too fucking awkward.

Then the redhead gave a slight nod as if understanding everything that Grif had spoken out loud and what he hadn't as well, a fleeting awkward smile curving his lips upward too before he looked away.

Perhaps the Above Grounder wasn't sure how to process all of that just yet, as the conversation died down completely for awhile. Given how heavy it had become, Grif was slightly relieved for the reprieve.

Simmons continued with the bandaging, and Grif was starting to feel drowsy again. He had been moving quite a bit, and mostly on an adrenaline rush that had pretty much fled his system by this point, so it was pretty understandable that his body was slowing down. Still, there was a definite twisting in his stomach he doubted would go away anytime remotely soon.

"Simmons?" He finally got up the nerve to ask, as the cyborg was in the process of finishing up with his lower back.

Simmons must have been lost in his own thoughts at that point due to the silence that had settled around them, because he gave a slight start and his skin turned a slight shade of red in reaction, "Y—yeah, Grif?"

"Can I go to where the others are tomorrow?" Grif closed his eyes, not sure if really wanted to see Simmons' reaction to his question, "I know I am in a crappy condition still but, fuck it! I want to be there."

For all intents and purposes, this was going to be the final battle. It was certainly the one that would decide whether everyone still in the Slums would be alive or dead. Who knew how many of his friends and comrades would even still be standing afterwards?

Grif didn't want to get killed or anything, and in any other instance he would sure as fuck welcome the chance to sit out the kind of firefight this would detail. But, if Kai and Tucker and everyone else were willing to potentially go to their deaths to prevent something beyond messed up from happening, he was going to be there too.

For a long while, Simmons was silent and Grif was bracing himself for an argument.

"Sure." The redhead said at length, after what seemed like a very long inner debate with himself that Grif only caught the flickering last seconds of as he sneaked a peak at the other man finally to gauge his reaction, "But, I'm going too."

That was unexpected, and Grif wasn't sure what he was feeling in reaction to the cyborg's statement. Simmons could potentially have a life here still, regardless of the outcome for the Resistance. At least, if he didn't get caught up in their shit again, or if he didn't get killed trying to look out for the Slums dweller after already doing way too much for him already.

Grif turned fully to face the Above Grounder then, for some reason alarmed at the notion of Simmons going even though he was apparently more than willing to throw his own injured ass into the fray, "You don't—!"

A green eye, along with a red-tinted one, leveled him with a stare that clearly gave no room for argument, "There's no way someone can knowingly standby in this situation." Simmons stated, his tone holding the same level of finality as his expression did, "Besides, I already told you. I am not going to lose you too, fat-ass."

Grif wanted to argue, but already knew it would be a wasted effort. Besides, seeing Simmons become adamant and stubborn always caused him to regard his friend impressively. He couldn't keep that familiar fondness from welling up within him again.

"Nerd." He smiled as he said it, as strange a term of endearment as Simmons calling him "fat-ass" just then had been. But, for them, both terms were quite affectionate all the same.

Simmons smiled back.

There were definitely a lot of things that were being left hanging unspoken between the two of them, but that would do for right now.

If they survived, well, there was a lot that they would have to discuss properly.

With minimal help from Simmons since, if he was going to be moving out tomorrow like he planned, Grif had to prove he could do at least this much on his own, the Resistance fighter settled onto the pastel-sheeted bed once more.

Simmons held back, suddenly seemingly quite nervous again now that his immediate concern over Grif's wounds had been taken care of.

Grif supposed that Simmons was just now starting to process how many heavy reveals had happened in such a short amount of time. Knowing the redhead, Simmons was freaking out about how that might change everything because he was his own worst enemy when it came to that sort of thing.

The Slums dweller patted the mattress next to him, scooting over slightly and doing a damn good job ignoring the pain that movement caused in the process, grinning like he had when the two had first met and there hadn't always been some horribly dire threat looming over their heads, "Want to nap in the meantime?"

Simmons' eyes widened momentarily. His very enthusiastic, albeit shy, nod afterwards caused both men's faces to inadvertently color a bit given the most recent shift in their dynamic. Perhaps not so much a shift as something they just were now a lot more conscious and aware of.

He settled in next to Grif without hesitation though. Grif closed his eyes, not quite sure how he felt both more energized and relaxed all at the same time.

Simmons' body was warm, and the Above Grounder seemed even more awkward and self-conscious lying there. He never was one who got used to quick impromptu napping, the Resistance fighter remembered.

Still, Grif couldn't help but lean into him more. It was only a few seconds later, as he was drifting to sleep, that he felt Simmons' organic arm pull him in closer. The tan man turned slightly, so that his own arm was draped over the other's side as well.

Even if the motion hurt a little bit, it was totally fucking worth it.

Grif was pretty sure it was the best nap he had had in a long while.

---

Author's Notes: Some actual developments in the romance department this time around! :D I apologize, as always, for however strange that may have gotten. I need some more practice writing straight-up romance, I think. XD I may have even alluded to a Freelancer pairing in there!

There were a whole bunch of character interactions this time around involving angst and ice cream parties (the best combination! XD), and some pretty significant moments to be had for a lot of the characters. Whether or not some of them are completely aware of it yet remains to be seen though. :)

At this point in the story, the endgame is in sight (just a few more chapters to go, I think!). So, I hope you will stick with me for the rest of the ride!

Though this probably won't be the last time you'll see me: I have a whole bunch of plot bunnies for RvB stories in my head, such as several oneshots and shorter fics…and even a lengthier multi-chapter tale that I have been brainstorming a bit now, so I might even be posting the first chapter or more of that one along with the final ones to Above Ground just to get it started. In other words, I will probably be annoying everyone with story updates for quite some time yet! :D

Thank you as always for reading. :D I hope this longer chapter was well worth the wait despite some of the awkwardness in sections at times. :)