(A/N) Hey RvB fans! Here's the latest update for this little collaboration, from the POV of everyone's favourite mystery blue guy, Agent Florida! As always, written by the fantastic OhSoDeadly, who really knocked this chapter out of the park, in my opinion. Just want to let you all know that we have passed out 3,000 views today, and will have a bit of a surprise for you guys on Monday, in celebration of RvB's ten year anniversary!

We're still looking for applications for Wyoming, Maine, North, South and Georgia (Wyoming in particular), but if anyone's interested they're to get their application in ASAP, as we will be deciding on the writers over this weekend and announcing it on Monday.

Now, enough of me yammering away to myself. It's time for our latest chapter. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!


Chapter Eighteen – Face Off

Agent Florida

Written by OhSoDeadly


"I punched it in the nose. Now we're friends."– Harry Dresden, Turn Coat


Well now. If Florida had seen a more topsy-turvy day in his life then he was a muttonhead! He'd always been a big believer in starting the day off right, usually with useful little things that were the key to being right as rain. Such as getting up a little earlier than you planned, a little jog, a little coffee with his paper. All the way from being a young man working at the post office, to a family man trying to juggle a household full of rambunctious rugrats, that was his routine, and it suited him to a T, yessiree bob!

But facts were facts, and there were some facts here that were none too pleasant. And here they were, laid out like a chorus line full of naughty schoolchildren. For one, poor ol' Penn had wound up in the infirmary. For two, Carolina and York were having a bit of a tizzy for whatever reason, probably because of that Team A/Team B stuff that had happened on Eris. And for three...

He turned around from his spot outside Penn's ward, and gazed at the armour-clad figure standing outside the medbay doors, arguing with some technicians about something. He couldn't help but frown upon seeing him. Alaska was his roommate, and he hated judging people about as much as he hated cold spaghetti on toast, but by gum, he was a hard man to like! Arrogant, overconfident, and as of now, somebody who got one of his team lying hurt in a nasty ol' hospital bed. Not to mention that silly armour colour. Why gosh, it looked as if someone had gone and dunked the fella in a vat of ketchup! Not that he was going to say as much, though. Right beside judgin' folks before he got to know them properly was saying nasty things behind someone's back, oh yes.

Mind you, he'd been pretty forthright when it came to criticising Florida straight to his face. All because he thought the Project's ranking system didn't necessarily mean they had to become all nasty to each other. But he'd shrugged that off pretty easily. Grudges weren't worth a tinker's dam!

He didn't look to be getting in anytime soon, though, so he went back to staring through the glass window at Penn and Massachusetts, his eyes misting up slightly. The big fella probably wouldn't appreciate that sorta gesture-after all, he was a hard-as-nails man, and big as a house besides!-but right now, he wouldn't know about it. He'd been through the wringer, so what was a little kindness here or there? Though kindness was probably the last thing on Penn's mind when he started the day.

Sighing, he rapped the window gently with his knuckles, but Massachusetts and Penn were too deep in conversation to notice. "There there, old buddy," he murmured. "Have you up and about lickety-split. We've got some real good docs on this ship, bet your bottom dollar on that-"

"Are you a praying man, Florida?"

He looked up, and just managed to stop his face from pulling into a scowl. Alaska had clearly failed to get past the ornery technicians and was now standing a few feet away from Florida, a lazy smile on his face. A lazy smile is never a good sign, his pa had used to tell him, 'cause it's like that the man who's wearing it ain't much better. All through life, he'd found that to be true. Except for Agent New York, who talked a good game (that little stunt with bribing the soldiers being a fine example) but was an otherwise nice young man.

Speaking of being nice, Alaska had gone and asked him a question, so he cleared his throat. "Beg your pardon, Al?"

Still that lousy smile. "I said, are you a praying man?"

That was a darn personal question, gosh! Back on Arcadia, religion was a touchy subject and nobody was keen to start a fight over it. But then again, he reminded himself, this was the wide, wide galaxy, and others had different ways to his. He'd have to remember that, most definitely. So he answered nonchalantly, "Not as much as I used to be. But sometimes every now and then. Why do you-"

"It just seems to me, "Alaska said smoothly, stepping closer and rudely cutting him off at the same time, "that if one was to compile a list of utterly useless activities to do in an infirmary, both praying and speaking to one who can't hear you would both be on it. Wouldn't you say?"

There was a lot to be said for patience, and even more for turning the other cheek, but a direct insult like that... "Our friend over there is well beat-up and could use every friend he has, Alaska, "he retorted, a shade of irritation in his voice. He couldn't help it. "Nothing wrong with a little kindness."

His lazy smile took a turn for the worse and became...what was the word? He tried to recall the word-a-day calendars his sister used to buy for him. Condescending."I'm sure, "Alaska purred. "Why not? Let's both share some words with our friend, as you say. If you wouldn't mind?" He motioned Florida to move away from the window. "Private matter, you understand."

This didn't feel good, but manners were manners, and who knew? Maybe Al actually had some kind words to give, against all odds. So he nodded and moved down the room a bit. There he waited, while Alaska walked right up to the window, hands clasped and started speaking. To his surprise, he didn't even try to keep his voice down. What followed didn't surprise him much at all, he was sorry to say.

"Can you hear me in there, Penn?" Alaska asked loudly, rapping on the window. Several technicians who were standing nearby shushed him and shot him angry looks. "Just wanted to congratulate you on your stellar performance in the simulation exercise. You didn't quite manage to get everyone killed, so that's good news. Oh, you know what else? I happen to be higher on the leaderboard than you. Isn't that a shame! Ah well. Guess your best just wasn't-"

Florida wasn't sure what came over him, but all of a sudden he was striding forward and shoving Alaska hard in the chest. As any ruffian or layabout on Arcadia would've said, once upon a time, Butch Flowers had no time for nonsense and even less time for bragging! "Hey! Enough of your high and mighty show!" he shouted. Now the medbay personnel were reallyticked off. One was headed in their direction, a stun wand in one hand. They had maybe twenty seconds before they were going to get tossed out.

Alaska's eyes were alight with a cruel satisfaction. "The man speaks for he who cannot! But let's not be farcical, Florida. Penn screwed up, and he paid the price for it. The board speaks for itself-"

OK. That was it. He'd had enough of this...yep, bastard. He couldn't believe he was using that sort of language, even just to himself, but desperate times called for desperate measures! Which explained his next move. Time to take this Bragging Billy down a peg!

He folded his arms. "That it sure does, Al. Look closer. Whose name is that above yours? By gum, it seems to be-"

Alaska's smile was long gone now, disappeared like a coyote over the horizon. "Listen to me, you old fart, "he hissed, "I could take you down in five seconds flat and not even break a sweat! So watch yourself when you-"

"Care to settle that on the training room floor?"

The red-armoured man gaped, but recovered quickly. "Why don't we do just that!"

"Dandy!" Florida shouted back at him.

The technician with the stun wand had reached them by now, and was brandishing it, but neither of the two agents gave a damn. They had bigger concerns now. Namely, each other.

The match hadn't been scheduled, but impromptu sessions were fairly easy to cook up. Within half an hour they were both down on the floor, choosing their weapons. A few of the other Freelancer agents had heard about the scrap on the grapevine and were watching from above, like Technicolour angels. Technicolour angels…hah! Was that a funny image or what?

Florida looked over the ordnance dispenser that had risen up from the floor, and hummed a little ditty. Just because this bigmouth had insulted him and belittled poor ol' Penn when he couldn't hear him say it or fight back for himself didn't mean he had to handling a bad case of the blues! No, as a matter of fact, he was looking forward to this. Project Freelancer was designed for folks who liked a bit of a scrap, and despite trying to be a nice person and all, Florida knew a bit of rough 'n' tumble was a good way to settle things.

Now then…what did they have? The usual selection of rifles and pistols and grenades, but what hewas looking for was-ah yes! He rummaged in the lowest rack and pulled out a long metal tube. Yanking an assault rifle from another slot, he attached the tube to the bottom. Checking the rifle's display, he saw the wink of a green light. Alrighty! The underslung launcher was functional. Now to load it.

He plucked not one, not two, but eightgrenades from the dispenser. Four of them he secured in his bandolier, and the other four he loaded into his rifle. Clack-clack! The sound of a locked and loaded rifle sure was sweet to his ears! All he needed now was a magnum and he was ready as spaghetti.

On the other side of the arena, Alaska had decided on a DMR, a pistol and a few grenades. Not that Florida was afraid of the lunatic, but he had shown some mighty impressive skills with that weapon combination in the paint exercise. Firing one-handed and hitting the target! How about that...Well, he'd just have to do his best! That was why he was here, right?

Not quite,a little voice in his mind said. A voice that often emerged when things were getting tense, or headed for stormy waters. He liked to think it wasn't his own voice, really. It was…too mean. Nasty, even. We're here because Alaska is a no-good crazy man and needs to learn his place. He insulted Penn while he was lying injured in the infirmary. We'll make him pay for that. Make him pay for a lot of things.

Florida frowned intensely inside his helmet, so glad the others couldn't see it. That wasn't him. It wouldn't be again. The voice ebbed, and died away. Good. Time to get to work.

The dispensers sunk back into the floor, and the two agents faced each other. Alaska swaggered forward, just shy of the white line that demarcated where the weapon stations ended and the arena began. "Not too late to back out, Florida!" he called out. "You know that, don't you?"

Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, did this boy ever stop running his mouth? "'Fraid I can't do that, Al! We've got business to take care of, you and I. Can't call yourself a man if you leave now! You know that,don't you?" Sarcasm ain't a pleasant way to make your point,dad had once said, but it's sure as heck effective.

Unlike earlier, when he'd gotten as angry as a hungry pig, Alaska just chuckled, a low sound that reminded him of those TV shows about serial killers he'd refused to let the girls watch. "Ohhh, Florida. If you were a steak, I'd be eating you with Dijon mustard." He patted his chestplate with a clang.

"Careful you don't choke on my lucky bone," Florida muttered. Before they could exchange any further banter, the screens around the room lit up with the trademark blue swirl of F.I.L.S.S.' avatar. Her cheerful voice filled the room, and he couldn't help but smile at that. She sounded just like his old schoolteacher, Mrs. Wilkins. Motherly but firm.

"Good afternoon, Agents!"she chirped. "This training match will begin in a moment. Rules are as follows. Paint rounds only will be used. The first agent to score three hits on the other will win the match! In addition, there will be numerous pillars that will provide cover, but these will appear and disappear at random intervals. Remember, the first to score three hits-"

"Enough!" Alaska suddenly roared at the screens, fists clenched and shoulder hunched. "Enough talk, F.I.L.S.S.! It's time I put this wizened relic back on the scrap-heap! Let's begin!" He stayed still, but boy was he agitated! Looking like a caged animal. Well, this rabid doggie needed a tranquiliser, and Florida was just the man to do it! Especially after snarling at poor F.I.L.S.S. like that.

Silently, eight pillars rose out of the ground. One stood on its own at each end, but between them the remaining six were arranged. From above, it would've looked like a big ol' division symbol. Speaking of above, Florida would've liked to have waved at the freelancers spectating, but it was time to be focused.

"Begin!"

He only caught a flash of Alaska darting around the pillar in front of him before he disappeared into the central arrangement. Rather than charge in, he snuck forward slowly, keeping his body on an oblique angle to the first pillar. Just as well, because a DMR burst missed his head by inches. He ducked right behind it this time instead, and considered his options.

Normally he would place a grenade on the pillar and create a useful li'l ace in the hole, but soon it would retract into the ground and his advantage would be lost. Right now, Alaska had him pinned down on one side of the battlefield, while he controlled his side AND the centre. He couldn't just wait, either-

The pillar started sinking, and he bit back a growl. He flung himself out from behind the pillar, saw the flash of a gun barrel and dropped to his knees immediately. The paint rounds went over his head, but he wasn't safe yet. He blind-fired a grenade into the centre and, before the paint and smoke splatter had time to clear, he was sprinting to find cover. Would Alaska be there?

He slammed his shoulders behind the next pillar, and resisted the urge to peek out and see what the heck was going on. Alaska was one mobile fella-he'd want to keep moving, to disorient him. As if he had been eavesdropping on his thought process, he heard the rasp of a boot not far away, and restrained that urge too. Slow and steady won the race!

Another slight noise, only this time ten steps in the other direction. Florida frowned as he heard that darn chuckle again, reverberating off the pillars. "Oh my, Florida, look at you. Trapped like a rat. That is…until the pillars change. Then you'll have nowhere to go."

Well now. That was a problem.

He heard the grinding noise starting up again, but held his ground. The pillar began to retract, but he held his ground. Florida tried not to think about how exposed he was becoming, and focused on the little plan he'd cooked up. Find the sound, fields of fire in both directions, find a good firing angle, find next spot of cover-

The pillar was now at chest height. Florida sucked in a breath, squeezed the trigger of his rifle-

-and jumped onto the pillar.

Alaska could have been forgiven for not expecting such a daring move on Florida's part, nor for the older Freelancer to go on the offensive in such an abrupt fashion. Behind the blood-coloured helmet, he cursed as the blue-clad agent suddenly sprayed his position beside one of the pillars with paint pellets. He tucked his arms by his side and began to roll back into cover, but a lucky round struck him on the foot, eliciting a grunt of pain as he toppled behind a pillar. Being the talented soldier he was, though, he quickly sat up and started returning fire.

Florida whooped with excitement when he saw the hit upon Al's boot, but was forced to find more cover. In the end, he decided upon what had been the other agent's starting position, which was thankfully still standing, and ducked behind that. What a super way to start!

"One point to Agent Florida, "FILSS chimed in.

Only two more and he would win! Yet, as he reloaded, he realised he was in a bit of a jam now. He wouldn't be able to pull that sort of trick off again; it was a gamble and a half from the very start and would be way too predictable. Plus getting shot in the foot always made a person quite tetchy. Al would be ready for payback.

A pistol shot rang out, and he stayed resolutely still. Another, only this time on the other side of the pillar. Probing his defences. No problemo. He'd stay put, for as long as he had cover. A well-placed grenade would cover his retreat to a new pillar. Just then, he heard a forced wheeze, like of someone lifting a heavy box. That sounded mighty ominous! He looked at his motion tracker. Nothing there.

Well, Al was sure as heck cooking something up, and he had to be ready. He could cook up a big kaboom if he wanted to. But that didn't solve the gosh-darned question of where-

"Ahem."

He looked up, straight into Alaska's faceplate. He could have sworn he saw a smile behind it, before the lunatic leaped at him.

Together, they crashed down to the floor. Florida was dimly aware that the pillar had started going down, but right now he didn't give a lick. He managed to pin one of Al's arms behind his back, but he saw the other hand reaching for the DMR on his back. Time to get this big oaf off him! Scrunching his knees up, he sprang them outwards, sending Alaska flying off him. Shaking his head, Florida prepared to fire his rifle, distance be darned.

But he was too slow. Alaska's rifle seemed to blur, coming off his back, folding into his hands, and firing. Faster than a-

A paint bullet caught him in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Son of a nutcracker, that stuff stung like a million bad-tempered bees! Ignoring it, he fired a grenade at Alaska, and growled when he elegantly side-stepped and the explosive went zinging downrange to explode harmlessly against the furthest pillar.

But he had plenty more than that. Another grenade shot out, and this time, Al had to make an ungainly scuttle for cover in order to avoid the pink blast that ballooned outward, and made the pillars look like big ol' strawberry ice-creams. He almost laughed at the sight, and then winced as his chest strained. The paint would slow him down, no doubt 'bout it.

Now wasn't the time to be taking a nap, though. The match was still on, and Al had pulled level, as F.I.L.S.S. was nice enough to point out suddenly. Getting back on his feet, he ducked low, and started to move, eyes scanning. Staying still wasn't a possibility anymore, by gum it wasn't! He decided to get in close, like Al had just done. Unorthodox, but it would work. Unorthodox…hey, maybe that was the answer!

As he mulled this idea over (it seemed crazy), he heard his teammate's (not right now he isn't) mocking voice yet again, seemingly from all over. "You know, there's an old saying, Florida. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. And by the looks of things, you are the old dog! Muscles getting tired? A little short of breath? I wouldn't be surprised! Ha ha ha ha-"

He was still laughing when Florida came out from behind the pillar and charged straight towards him. He bit back a torrent of swear-words and pulled back the charging lever on his DMR. Florida might have been a great deal slower than him, and their styles manifestly different, but the old man was thinking on his feet. Not that it would make a difference in the end, but it was making him look bad-in front of his colleagues, and in front of Moi.

The pair of them were inside the central pillar formation, and it was at this time they chose to go ballistic. Not only did they raise and lower spasmodically, but the pillar bases themselves roved around, making the ground as treacherous as a pit of quicksand. Florida had to stop and dodge to one side as a pillar shot up beside him. Alaska chuckled with delight as he saw his opponent's slowed momentum and opened fire.

He ran low, a pair of rising pillars just covering his head. Pink (although by this point, they looked more lightish red) splatters flew over him like comets, and he mantled over one lowering pillar, rolled, skidded to a halt, pivoted and fired. The grenade nearly caught Alaska right in the faceplate, but he ducked just in time. Florida prepared to fire another-

Click. Click. He was out, and had no time to reload. "Damn it!" he muttered, stowing his guilt at cursing away for later. Alaska was already on the run, strafing him yet again. Now when was HE going to run out of ammo? His rifle seemed bottomless. Not only that, but he was jumping all over the place, like a big ol' monkey. He jumped up on one pillar, leaped off that, and kicked himself off another, all the while firing. Like a red shadow!

Florida tried to stay positive, but at this point, he was going to lose easily. Simply returning fire wouldn't help at all. He needed his grenades, and he needed 'em lickety-split! Desperately, he cast eyes about, looking for a semi-defensible position in the midst of all this, and spotted a pillar only just rising up, and slowly too. He sprinted towards, it, already plucking a grenade from his bandolier, badly placed shots landing all around him.

At this point, adrenaline pumpin' away, time seemed to slow down to a snail's crawl. He flung himself to the ground, locked the grenade into his rifle, and flung himself again, all the while avoiding shots. Hearing a familiar clicking sound, he realised that Al was reloading. About time too! The man was fumbling with a clip from his belt as he prepared to spring from a pillar, onto another. I don't think so, buster!

Rising up, he raised the rifle, fired the grenade-

-and bit back another swear as the grenade fell short of its target. More paint splattered the pillar Alaska was standing on, but none of it touched him. However, he did yelp and fall in a mighty undignified way to the floor. There was a chance if there ever was one! He ran forward, flicking the setting on his rifle back to full auto-

Suddenly he was staring dumbfounded at his empty hands. Alaska, once again, had acted with ridiculous speed and blasted the rifle out of his hands! What a Low-handed Larry he was! But at least it hadn't counted as a point.

"Point to Agent Alaska!"

"Oh darn." His pistol was still holstered.

Alaska depolarised his visor and smirked maliciously. "You gave it a good effort, old man. But time for you to give up." He raised his DMR-

-and cried out in shock as a pillar rose from right underneath him, carrying him into the air. Florida didn't hesitate, and drew his pistol fast as he could. Blam!Right in the kisser!

"Point to Agent Florida! The next agent to score wins!"

Now THIS was a contest, by gum! Despite all the hard luck he'd had since this match started, and the paint making him feel like a man who'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed, he felt that thrill of the fight rush through him. If this ain't living, gosh knows what is!He wished the girls were here to see this…

An enraged roar, and he saw Alaska stalk out from behind a pillar, visor coated in that pink mess. His sight would be obscured as all heck. "Come here!" he bellowed, gripping his rifle like a baseball bat he wanted to swing. "I'll kill you, you little fuck!" And he charged, firing as he ran.

"Holy cow!" Florida had no chance to fire back, not with a piddly little pistol like this. The DMR had far better range, and he'd had his fill of the other fella out-shooting him. So he fell back on that oldest strategy: running away. If you run away and get the job done later,dad had opined, it's not a bad deal.

Pink splatters hunted him through the pillars, which had begun to slow down and return to the original spasmodic movements. Florida slid behind one, but knew it wouldn't work forever. The other man was angrier than a dog with a beesting, and too good at aiming. Soon he'd land a lucky shot and the match would be over.

He reflexively checked his bandolier, still assessing his next move. Three left. Time to go loud!

He caught a flash of red flitting between cover, and lobbed the first, then the second, then and the third. They all went off, one after the other, and covered the arena in the splatter. The smoke began to clear, and he hoped against hope that just one of them had landed a hit on the other agent.

But F.I.L.S.S. stayed quiet, and he heard footsteps quickly. Glancing down at the pistol in his hands, he checked the clip, and shook his head in disgust. A simple exchange of gunfire was…well, it was too simple! He needed to shake things up in order to have a chance. Something, anything…

His eyes fell upon the object, and he grinned behind his blue ODST-issue helmet. Perfecto!

Alaska had crouched down low against the pillar, ready to finish the fight. His smile was serene and confident. He knew he had a better weapon, and was a better aim, and was quicker. And that was just in the past thirty seconds. He was the better agent by far, and as he heard Florida's steps (clumsily trying to flee for another pillar), he knew now was the time to prove it. He was the better agent, and everyone would know it. He stepped out, saw the blue man, squeezed the trigger-

Without pausing, Florida ducked and flung something at him. As it caught him around the neck, Alaska realised with baffled rage it was his bandolier. He tore it off, refocused-

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

As he unloaded the rest of his clip into Alaska, Florida looked up towards the scoreboard. And sure enough, that two became a three. He whooped with joy. Colour him purple and plant a flower on his head, he was the winner!

"The winner is: Agent Florida!"

The pillars began to retract, and the doors opened. The Freelancers who had watched spilled onto the floor, shouting congratulations and expressing their disbelief at the result. Florida removed his helmet, and thanked each one in turn with a big smile and a hug. What great pals they were! What a great day this had been!

And yet…he still felt slightly bad for poor ol' Al, struggling to pick himself up. Maybe it hadn't been all that necessary to fire all the bullets…

He strode over to the man and offered his hand. After a moment's consideration, the other man took it, and Florida pulled him upright. "Heck of a match, Al, "he beamed. "Great job!"

For a minute, Florida feared another one of his mood swings, or worse. But after a few seconds of silence, Alaska removed his own helmet and nodded grudgingly. "Not bad. For an old man."

Florida chuckled and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Watch it, young whippersnapper. I might not be a spring chicken, but I can still show you a thing or two." The pair hobbled out of the room, headed for the paint removal room.

Alaska snorted a laugh, grudgingly conceding his point. "Maybe you can, Florida. Maybe you can."