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 Three:
Washington sighed, wondering whether or not he should have agreed as readily as he had to Carolina's "no argument whatsoever" declaration that he be the one to continue the training regimen they had set up for the newer recruits.
He honestly understood why the redhead had been so emphatic. With her former Freelancer teammate watching the rookies, she could go out on the field with the recovery team to closely monitor the two leaders of the mercenary band that had come to pay Chorus a visit.
The blond knew, logically speaking, that at least one out of the two of them should remain within the walls of Chorus, simply in case the rest of the mercenaries tried something malicious or acted suspiciously.
He also knew that Carolina wasn't as comfortable with leading the training missions herself either, that her past experiences with doing so had led her to believe that Wash ultimately had more patience for that type of job. At least when it came to forgiving mistakes and advice-giving.
Though, truth be told, it wasn't as if either of them would ever probably be called "great" at it.
Washington was far from what one might call a "people person." The same could be said for the former leader of the Freelancers, though he had been trying his hardest to work at that particular flaw of his, just as he knew that Carolina was attempting to do so. Naturally, on her own terms. Of course.
They had both been through and lost so much, and they were just now starting to begin again with the oddball family that had taken them months (years, actually) to fully trust. That familial unit was always evolving and, slowly but surely, growing to include some extended members from amongst the general population of Chorus too. Especially now that all of them were trying to make the place their home.
It was a constant, slow process with always shifting dynamics. One that had helped Washington become a bit more patient and understanding with every passing moment.
But, there were definitely some instances that tried his patience a lot more than others. Not being able to go with the recovery team had been one of those instances, and the way that this particular training session was progressing as the day wore on was definitely another.
"If you think about it, shooting a few meters away from a target in the hopes that they'll walk into it a second later sort-of makes sense." Washington heard a cheerful voice explain in a ridiculously sage-like manner despite their rather faulty logic.
"I am really not so sure about that." Another deeper and more mature-sounding voice remarked into the uneasy and awkward silence that had befallen the group of sand-armored soldiers.
"No, it fucking doesn't!" An angry, exasperated groan pierced the air not a moment later as the orange-trimmed male turned his head to glare at the young man who had started the whole topic, "Shut the fuck up, Palomo."
Wash sighed again, feeling as though the proof for his earlier thought on instances that tried his patience was being clearly presented to him as he witnessed the interaction amongst the rookies continue to play out.
He reminded himself that he had been the one who had given them a break, had wanted to encourage them to have group discussions with each other. The blond fought the urge to step into the exhaustive fray once more, knowing that he shouldn't interrupt until it was time to get back to training. Unless, of course, things really got out of hand.
This particular group of newer recruits had certainly proven themselves to be a handful since he had begun helping with their training months ago and, as he had an apparent knack for dealing with "handful" situations, he would certainly be able to accurately describe said moments.
The "handful" term could easily describe just about everyone he socialized with now after all, as well as quite a few faces from his past that he tried not to dwell too much on anymore for emotional reasons.
Charles Palomo's friendly disposition didn't diminish in the slightest at the biting remark he had just received. Then again, the kid with the aqua trim on his armor had heard it so many times by this point that he was probably an expert at tuning it out as his grin only grew wider, "Hey! I'm just saying, I could have just come up with a genius new strategy!"
The dark-skinned youth was the only soldier of the rookie group who was actually native to Chorus. He had no family to speak of, as he was the only survivor of a batch of genetically engineered people who hadn't been created to fight in the war, but rather to help get materials and equipment for it instead as "supply-runners" of sorts. Essentially, they were people who went from region to region transporting goods back and forth.
Palomo's history showcased how Chorus had been a small region that hadn't really had the resources or tech necessary to design and train genetically engineered humans more tailor-made specifically for fighting battles. Those batches, such as Wash's own, usually came from very well-off and enormous regions with a lot of resources readily available right away.
In other areas of the world during the fighting, Washington had often heard those created for the task of supply-running being described with the less flattering term of "moving targets" since the shooting never really stopped for them. This was especially truthful in combat, since taking out supply-runners usually meant not allowing goods to fall to the opposing side.
Fortunately for young Palomo, the practice of using supply-runners as human shields for cargo dispensing had been made illegal. It was still an option for them, but they were awarded with actual compensation if they survived around the time when the Chorus native would have been deemed old enough to help escort supplies. Wash really didn't want to dwell too much on how the "old enough" bar had been set for them at fourteen back then.
Interestingly enough, one of the only other surviving members of that particular subset of genetically engineered humans in Chorus was now helping to actually run the region. Evidently, Vanessa Kimball's actions as one of the leaders of Chorus had quite the inspiring effect on the younger Palomo. At least enough of one that he had even decided to enlist to help Chorus too despite having no obligation to do so anymore.
But, while the lad's heart was so often in the right place, it seemed to take quite a while for the rest of him to catch up with it. He could definitely cause a lot of exasperation given that, not unlike a certain teal-wearing soldier that Palomo idolized almost as much as he did Kimball these days, much to Tucker's continued chagrin.
Another sigh emitted from the group, "It really isn't a genius strategy at all, Palomo."
The blond-haired girl with the pink armor trim who had spoken up just then had a thoughtful frown on her face, arms crossed defensively over her chest plate. She was the recruit that Wash arguably knew the least about, though he couldn't really say whether that was because she didn't have much information to give, was too guarded to speak about her past, or just didn't see the point or need to divulge much.
Her name was simply Volleyball, and usually any introduction of hers was followed with a joke about how she had just really liked the sport after playing it once. Like Palomo, she was another genetically engineered human, though her case was evidently closer to Washington's own origins in that she had been created for combat as a soldier somewhere in one of the massive city-regions.
She seemed somewhat competent with weaponry and drills, so Wash suspected that not only did she have the natural predisposition all soldier artificially created humans had, but that she had at least been trained in a facility for a while. Whether she had ever seen any frontline action before the ceasefire had been announced wasn't at all clear.
All Wash knew about her beyond that was that, at some point in her past, Volleyball had met and bonded with two other young souls who had been thrust into the conflicts for various reasons of their own. The three of them had even made their way to Chorus together.
"If it does somehow end up working once, remember that a broken clock's got to still be right twice a day." The tan girl with braces and maroon trim on her armor standing next to Volleyball added into the conversation, a heavy slur to her voice.
Katie Jensen was one of the members of Volleyball's adopted family. She'd been a young child, probably only a bit older than Junior was now, when she had been orphaned. Somehow, a cleverness with tech had helped to keep her alive despite the danger being a lone little kid in the conflict often meant facing.
Eventually Jensen met a boy who was in a rather similar situation to her own. The two decided to stick together and watch each other's backs given their situation, becoming a family of sorts to help overcome the loss of their previous ones.
Given how they had just been two youths alone, it was probably only natural that they had gotten into some trouble later on down the road. Volleyball somehow played a role in helping them out of it, and they ended up becoming a trio after that. The three made their way surprisingly safely to Chorus a bit later.
Jensen was certainly intelligent and talented when it came to machinery, but Wash still had fucking nightmares about his "How bad could she possibly be?" attempts at teaching her how to drive. Simmons had actually warned him against doing so, and he had suspected Lopez had as well since the two had apparently already tried teaching her after she'd asked them for help once. The new scar he now sported on his arm was an indication he probably should have listened to them.
"W—wouldn't it just be better to aim at the target directly?" The auburn-haired young man with glasses who spoke up near Jensen was simply known as Matthews.
What his first name was, Wash couldn't really say. The yellow-trimmed lieutenant always clammed up when that subject came up. He was the third member of the family trio: a shy, awkward sort of kid who had even more odd hero-worshipping tendencies than Palomo did, much to Grif's chagrin. The lazy orange-armored soldier often described Matthews as a "kiss-ass" or "suck up" due to his earnest and misguided attempts at gaining approval from him.
Given how much the three had come to care for and trust one another, which was always constantly on display in their interactions both during training and outside of it, Wash supposed it hadn't really been much of a shock that, when Volleyball had expressed her interest in defending their new home, the other two had decided to join her.
"That does seem to be the most practical approach, yes." The much older lieutenant in their midst with dark hair and blue eyes the same color as his armor trim added in quietly. His response made sense considering he was the one who had tried politely questioning Palomo on this very subject earlier when the other rookie had started enthusiastically talking about it
John Elizabeth Andersmith was probably just a few years younger than Wash. Evidently he had tried as best he could during the war to avoid fighting and kept to jobs to help sustain his home region more. So, as a new recruit who had little to no actual military experience before coming to Chorus, he had been placed into the group of younger soldiers still in training.
Why would an older civilian decide to go on this path now of all times, when there was at least a sort-of sense of uneasy peace in the world despite all of the uncertainty and black market activities cropping up as people started to rebuild? That was a question Wash had the distinct impression was probably far too personal to just ask someone out of the blue, so he never pried into Andersmith's reasoning.
The oldest rookie was a pleasant enough fellow and all-around capable soldier. That was more important to the Freelancer in the long run. Besides, the former Freelancer was far too surprised and more than just a tad alarmed by Andersmith's idolization of Caboose of all people to even want to broach that equally perplexing topic of discussion anytime soon.
Seriously, that particular case of admiration made both Palomo's and Matthews' hero worships of Tucker and Grif seem perfectly normal by comparison.
"I can't believe you'd even attempt to discuss this bullshit more." An angry, snarling voice bit out.
That voice belonged to Antoine Bitters, a lieutenant with orange-trimmed armor and oddly multi-colored hair. Evidently, Palomo had tried pranking him with hair dye or something instead of shampoo. The whole thing had resulted in Bitters trying to throttle him.
To put it bluntly, Bitters was a young man who was often mad about things in general, and who generally had very little patience given that for the shenanigans of more cheerful minds like Palomo's. In a way, he was almost what Wash pictured a teenaged Church must have been like. Which was more than just a little frightening and exasperating to think on.
Not that he could necessarily blame Church for his anger in the slightest given what the cybernetically enhanced individual had gone through. Likewise, he couldn't necessarily blame Bitters for his own outlook either. After all, Bitters came from a batch that had been created specifically for a mercenary cell during the war.
Soldier genetically engineered humans weren't treated too greatly in general, but what Wash had experienced growing up he knew had probably been leagues better when compared to what Bitters' childhood must have been like. Mercenary units often viewed their batches as disposable commodities even more than the regions who created soldier batches did.
While preference had always been given to naturally born soldiers compared to genetically engineered ones, since it cost a whole lot of time and money to get genetically engineered soldiers ready for combat, regions weren't exactly eager to lose a great many of them in constant waves if there were ways around it while the people in Bitters' situation were walking "cannon fodder" that mercenaries expected to also serve in active combat roles until they dropped.
Training for them often amounted to little more than putting a weapon into far too young of hands and hopefully the person those hands belonged to would survive until the next battle. Wash had heard horror stories before of their ages ranging even younger than the fourteen minimum age requirement for supply-runners.
Given that, it was no wonder that Bitters wasn't one of the more patient new recruits, nor why he seemed to still be having a hard time in general adjusting to the very different way of life he had found waiting for him in Chorus.
Bitters turned to glare at Palomo, "How you don't know any of this shit already despite being what you are is beyond me."
"Ouch." Palomo winced, rubbing the back of his head and smiling sheepishly in response, "Probably deserved that though?"
"Not really." Volleyball hissed under her breath, an expression of utter annoyance plastered on her features. She looked as if she was going to say more on the subject, but Bitters had already turned his attention to two of the others as he continued addressing Palomo.
"You're somehow even worse than these ones." He tilted his dyed head in both Jensen's and Matthews' directions. If Palomo was a source of ire for the young man due to not being what one often expected for genetically engineered specimens, then Matthews and Jensen also sometimes received it for being around his age too but normal, "And that's saying something."
"Hey!" Volleyball was snarling herself, getting directly into Bitters' face now that he had dragged more people into his rant, "What the hell is your problem?"
Palomo, Matthews, and Jensen glanced at one another, a mix of expressions on their faces ranging from partially apologetic to slightly concerned that the other two may have gotten hurt by the commentary. There was a nervousness in the air again.
It was far from the first time that the two genetically engineered "soldiers" in their midst had almost come to blows when interacting with one another.
Volleyball was protective of her friends and had no tolerance for what she felt counted as bullying or badgering, especially towards any of the ones who were a little younger than her. Which, in this case, happened to be all three of Bitters' targets.
"Right now? It's being here where no one is taking anything fucking seriously!" Bitters shot back.
"Like you've even attempted doing anything!" The blonde's retort was immediate, her fists clenching together tightly.
"All right," Andersmith, at a shared nod from the others, pushed his way in-between the two arguing lieutenants, using his massive frame to keep them at bay, "It's time for all of us to calm down."
They looked ready to just continue their yelling at one another over poor Andersmith. Wash sighed, recognizing the obvious signs of a confrontation brewing once again that wasn't going to get resolved by itself.
It was probably for the best to end their break early then, maybe even give one of them in particular a few more drills in order to give him time to think things over. The blond took in a breath to step into the fray himself when the door to the training area suddenly opened behind him.
"What's up, bitches?" An all-too familiar voice called out, "Hey! Who the fuck said you guys could have all the fun without me?"
"Oh, fuck no." Wash couldn't help but moan at Kaikaina Grif's far too timely entrance.
Grif's little sister walked past him as though he were invisible, heading straight for the small group of lieutenants with an annoyed look plastered across her tan features. She stopped just a couple meters away from them, crossing her arms over her yellow chest plate and tapping her feet impatiently on the ground as she waited for some kind of commentary to what she had just said.
If Wash didn't know any better, he would have sworn that she had done so on purpose just to distract everyone from the anger that had been flowing between her fellow genetically engineered comrades just then.
It certainly did that trick regardless, as Bitters let out an annoyed "Tch!" sound under his breath before angrily looking away from everyone. The still obviously agitated Volleyball glared at him a split-second more before looking over at Kaikaina apologetically.
"Sorry, Kai. I know how much you love to party." She told the other girl, her usually friendly demeanor taking over once more.
"Yeah, it's the best!" Kaikaina grinned, "So is ass-kicking too if someone really deserves it."
She was looking pointedly at Bitters just then, the young man rolling his eyes and muttering a half-hearted "Whatever." under his breath at the threat behind her words.
With the situation properly diffused and his annoyance apparently deflated as a result, Bitters pushed past Andersmith and Matthews to sit grumpily by himself against the wall behind them while not looking directly at anyone as he did so, lost in his own thoughts.
Andersmith sighed sadly and shook his head, the perplexed look on his face no doubt meaning that he was seriously contemplating what he thought Caboose might do in that situation. Yes, Wash had seen that very look just seconds before he had overheard Andersmith asking the blue-armored soldier for advice. Then the older lieutenant turned to check on the others.
Jensen and Palomo were already paying more attention to Kaikaina given her sudden entry, though Matthews glanced back over his shoulder at the sulking young man with a still nervous and almost sad look in his eyes.
The look dissipated when Jensen, concerned that maybe Matthews was still upset by what had happened earlier, touched her adopted brother's shoulder gently. He smiled at her weakly in reassurance, allowing both herself and Palomo to drag him over to the others.
"He'll adjust sooner or later." A new voice remarked from behind Wash as he was standing there contemplating how to best approach Bitters, "It just takes some people a bit longer than others."
The voice belonged to a woman with slightly curly black hair cut just below her ears, one who was wearing the purple trim on her armor that was customary of medical officers usually. It appeared as though she had observed quite a bit of the previous altercation before deciding to make her presence known.
Which made sense, he supposed, since Bones was currently training Kaikaina. He had a feeling the medic lieutenant had also been doing the same before loudly exclaiming herself to be there.
He sighed, knowing from his own experiences just how true her statement was, "I just hope it's before one of them kills him though."
She grinned mischievously, "Well, at least Kai's on a pretty good track to help mend him if that happens."
He raised a blond eyebrow, "Even if she's one of the ones most likely to beat him to a pulp?"
Like Volleyball, Kaikaina was insanely protective of her friends. Wash still remembered when she, as a teenager, had tried shooting him. Granted, it was because when they'd first met she had thought that he had been the one to hurt Tucker when he had brought both him and Junior back to their group, and she had been afraid that he might possibly do the same to her brother and his other teammates.
Bones smiled, "That's one of those perks they don't always tell you about being a medic."
He had a feeling that Doc would probably disagree with her on that front given his pacifist leanings in general, but he had the sudden thought of her and Doctor Grey working on patients together and couldn't help but shudder a little.
"Still—" Wash began before getting interrupted.
"Hey!" He looked up to see Kaikaina glowering at him from across the large training space, "You better not be talking bad about me, cop!"
He couldn't help but groan, "Kai, we've known each other for how long now?" The former Freelancer asked exasperatedly, "For the last time, I am not a cop!"
"That's exactly what a cop would say to throw someone off their trail." She remarked stubbornly, her glare only intensifying as she added, "Cop."
"Oh, for the love of—!" The blond sighed, shaking his head as he remembered exactly why the younger Grif sibling had started this up again, "Those handcuffs were a joke of Tucker's, Kai. A bad one."
"Hey, how you guys spend your time together is none of my business." She shrugged indifferently at his remark, "Unless you record it. In which case, I'll pay to see it."
"Yeah, yeah..." It took a moment for the utter absurdness of her remark to fully sink into Wash's brain, "Wait, what?"
There was a loud, practically deafening silence in the room just then as the conversations suddenly screeched to a halt and all eyes were on him the second the handcuffs were mentioned. He felt his cheeks turning red as he pondered just how much credibility as a capable soldier and instructor he had just lost from this bizarre argument with Kaikaina Grif, and how many drills he'd have to order everyone to do in order to get even an ounce of it back.
"Please kill me." He lowered his head, resisting the urge to grab at it with his hands through a monumental display of inner willpower.
Bones patted his shoulder in friendly sympathy, "Leave it to me." She informed him, tilting her head slightly in the direction of her pupil as she did so, "I've dealt with enough of Kai's commentaries by now to know how to divert attention from them quickly."
"I'd owe you." He mumbled appreciatively.
"Tell me the story behind those handcuffs of Tucker's one day and we'll call it even." She joked good-naturedly before making her way over to her trainee and the young woman's friends.
"Handcuffs?"
If there was any remote chance in his life for the ground to somehow split open and swallow him whole, Wash would have very much appreciated if it could happen now. He sighed, unable to even look over at what was probably the very questioning glance that Vanessa Kimball was no doubt casting his way from where she stood at his side, "Pretend you didn't hear that."
When he had finally gotten the nerve to do so, he looked over to see one of the leaders of Chorus smiling slightly with amusement glinting in her brown eyes at his expense, "Fair enough."
The former Freelancer let out a grateful exhale, regarding the woman he had come to respect not only as a soldier in her own right and as a leader, but also as something of a friend. She was looking thoughtfully at Bones as she conversed with most of the lieutenants, "I'll ask Bones about Kaikaina's progress later, but how has training been going for your group?"
Wash sighed yet again, "It was fine up until the last five minutes of their break."
When she shot him a questioning glance, he tilted his head over towards where Bitters was still off in his own little world sulking against the wall.
"Lieutenant Bitters is still having issues with communicating efficiently with his teammates." He reported.
This wasn't new information to Kimball as it was a topic that had come up with quite a bit of frequency ever since Bitters had come to Chorus. She nodded in understanding, her expression turning serious as she mulled over his words, "We'll have to figure out what to do about that soon."
Washington couldn't help but nod in agreement before noticing the data pad that Kimball was holding close to her side. She wasn't in her sand-colored armor with its ice trimming, but in her favorite civilian clothes of choice: brown slacks with an ice-blue colored shirt. Evidently, most people seemed to have a preference for their everyday clothing to somewhat match their armor if they wore it. Now that he thought about it, most of his clothing were shades of gray that could be associated with steel or had some kind of variation of yellow in them too.
He knew the dark-skinned woman well enough by now to know that her lack of armor was by no means an indication that she hadn't been constantly working up until the point she had decided to get training updates. Kimball was almost as bad of a workaholic as someone like Simmons or even Carolina was.
"I take it you've assigned our other new recruits their first tasks, then?" He asked her, referring to the mercenaries who had shown up at Chorus only recently.
"Just finished up about two hours ago." Kimball informed him, nodding her head slightly. Her long, curly black hair was pulled back into a low hanging ponytail.
Wash frowned in slight worry, the expression and the meaning behind it not at all lost on Kimball.
She smiled slightly, a knowing look crossing over her features, "You can check over everything, if you want." She told him before a frown replaced her smile, "I know that you and Carolina are concerned. It's not as if I'm not either, believe me."
He couldn't help but deepen his frown slightly at the admission, though it made sense given how Kimball's priority was the safety of the city, "Then why…?"
"Did I agree to let them stay?" She finished for him, a look of resignation taking hold over her face as she answered, "Because Chorus needs all of the assistance it can get." She sighed, her gaze once more going to the small group in the training room, "We're not exactly in a position where we can turn people away if we don't have any evidence that they're actually up to something."
He more than understood that reasoning. Chorus had grown as much as it had already for having a more welcoming disposition towards outsiders, after all. Fuck, his own group of friends wouldn't have even come here if that hadn't been the case, though it still made for a frustrating situation all the same.
From the look of barely concealed stress and doubt crossing over Kimball's features, he could tell that she felt similarly. Arguing it any further at this point would only add even more unnecessary stress to her overflowing glass of it.
He truly did not envy her role in making sure this region stayed afloat. Or Doyle's, as he was pretty sure the poor man was now visiting Doctor Grey regularly to get medication for ulcers.
At Kimball's earlier mention of Carolina, Wash's thoughts had drifted once again to the reclamation mission that she had gone on with the mercenary leaders. His thoughts went from her, to Grif, to Caboose, and then finally to Tucker. The former Freelancer couldn't help but sigh again.
"Have we heard from the salvage mission yet?" He asked quietly.
She nodded, "They should be on their way back now."
Wash relaxed a bit at the news, some of the worry drifting from his shoulders just then. Hopefully that meant they would be safe within the city walls before it got too dark outside. He'd feel even better once he was able to start his own observations on the mercenaries.
"I still wish I could have gone with them." He admitted under his breath.
A brief flicker of understanding crossed over Kimball's face before it was replaced with mild amusement once more, "Ah, but who else would have trained the lieutenants today then?" She asked coyly, "Particularly since this group has proved a bit trying for everyone else."
He couldn't necessarily argue with the fact that training was absolutely vital for the continued security of Chorus, but still!
"I can take over from here for today though, since they're close to being dismissed." Kimball noted before he could even voice his thoughts out loud again, and there was definitely a conspiratorial gleam in her brown eyes as she added, "Since I believe you have other matters you'd like to get to as soon as possible, Washington?"
She was granting him permission to start observing exactly what, if anything, the mercenaries might be up to in Chorus. He nodded silently, grateful for the opportunity to start doing so sooner rather than later.
Kimball almost seemed to be looking forward to the rare opportunity she had to play instructor again, a role she hadn't been able to take up for quite some time once she took over as one of the city's leaders. There was a smile in her eyes that even managed to cut through the lines of stress and worry that always seemed to be piling up on her.
At least until the door to the training center opened once more.
"Ah, Miss Kimball! There you are!" Donald Doyle exclaimed from behind them, "I was hoping to discuss a matter of the utmost urgency with you."
Kimball's expression immediately clouded over at the sound of his voice, and she swore under her breath in newfound annoyance. Whenever the two co-leaders discussed something concerning operations in Chorus, it often became a headache not only for the both of them, but also for anyone else within a good forty kilometer radius.
Wash was mildly amused at how quickly volatile Kimball became in Doyle's presence, and how vice-versa that was for the uptight but usually mild-mannered man too. Still, he knew that Doyle's timing was a good cue for him to take his leave, as he did not really want to get involved or caught up in yet another never-ending debate and shouting match between the two leaders.
Wash used the free time that Kimball had given him rather efficiently. After acquiring the list of assignments that their new friends had been given around the city, the blond spent a good while observing the various men and women in steel armor at work.
The moment they stepped away from a task, he was there to check over what they had done to see if things were still functioning properly and that nothing else in the area had been tampered with. Just to be safe, he also checked on the general "higher risk" spots around Chorus too.
He was always thorough when it came to security matters. Tucker and some of the others would probably jokingly refer to him as being more "paranoid" than anything else, but that attention to detail had previously helped all of them out. More than once, the former Freelancer would often like to add.
Of course, all that efficiency seemed a bit unnecessary when he wasn't able to turn up anything out of the ordinary whatsoever. The mercenaries seemed to be adjusting to life in Chorus rather well already, working diligently with the residents and tackling their assigned duties with aplomb.
Which wasn't a bad thing at all. Quite the opposite, really, since they could always use extra assistance. But, even seeing that with his own eyes didn't help put Wash's mind at ease for some reason.
He could practically picture Tucker mouthing the word "Paranoid." at him just then and he had to push the mental image from his mind with a grimace. As much as he would love to just take the mercenary leaders' words at face value, he just wasn't completely ready to potentially gamble with everyone's lives here at Chorus.
It was possible that his assessments so far were right and there was nothing going on. But, it was also just as likely that, as just one person doing perfunctory examinations at best currently, he may have overlooked things. Especially since they were dealing with professionals who were more than likely experts at concealment.
He had no doubt that Carolina would want to go over Chorus with a fine-toothed comb just to be on the safe side later on still. It might not even be a bad idea to have some of the others help out with that too. He was fairly certain there were quite a few different types of scanning equipment at the warehouse as well that Sarge wouldn't mind getting the chance to finally try out.
"Wash, hey! Wash!"
A familiar voice was calling out to him from across the street. Washington blinked, his thoughts completely shutting down as his brain processed Franklin Delano Donut's cheery and sing-song voice, "I almost thought you hadn't seen us!"
Truthfully, he actually hadn't given how lost the former Freelancer had been in his own mulling contemplations.
He had no idea that his feet had carried him so close to the warehouse where the Reds and Blues, as they had decided to call themselves following the war as some odd bit of humor on Sarge's part, often worked when they didn't have duties elsewhere around Chorus.
Hell, they even spent a good portion of their free time at the site. The blond often found himself doing the same whenever Wash was left to his own meanderings, now that he thought about it. The place could be chaotic and its occupants often frustrating, but there was something comforting and oddly warm about being in their presence all the same. Especially when he started to feel overwhelmed.
Wash walked over at Donut's exclamation, giving a terse nod back in way of greeting. There was a small group of his comrades, and deep down he knew the word to use for them was friends, hanging around outside of the building as the sky began to darken.
From the looks of it, Donut and Doc had been calling it a day from work. The purple medic was standing next to his friend with a little more of a bounce to his step than usual, which Wash had long since figured out meant that he would be in Donut's company somewhere instead of getting shot at.
Lopez was outside as well, and he gave a quick nod of his head at the Freelancer before quickly turning and walking back inside the warehouse. That didn't surprise Wash too much. Lopez wasn't exactly prone to conversation given how most people couldn't understand him. Besides, both he and Sheila actually lived at the warehouse.
It made Sarge feel better in the rare instances when he wasn't there to have "sentries," and Wash suspected that the two Virtual Intelligences rather liked having a spot that was both quieter and private to recuperate in from the chaotic humans they had to deal with on a day-to-day basis.
The reasoning for Lopez having been outside made a bit more sense as well when Wash saw Junior standing next to his grinning father. The boy had probably been eager to drag one of his favorite "babysitters" out with him when he was being reunited with his parent after Tucker's return. Lopez, surprisingly tolerant of the youth despite often being exasperated by everyone else save Sheila, had probably obliged.
Junior's face lit up once again at Wash's presence, the expression outshining even the mysterious glowing marks on his face. The boy promptly disengaged from the death-grip he'd had on Tucker's hand to hug the former Freelancer.
Wash had to fight to keep his balance momentarily due to the sudden tackling pressure around his knees, but he returned the gesture without an ounce of self-consciousness.
"Man, and here I thought I got the best welcome back." Tucker jokingly griped at the sight, though there was only warmth in the expression that crossed over his face while he watched his son hugging Wash.
"Well, if you consider that Junior hasn't seen Wash all day…" Doc began gently.
"I know, I know." Tucker rolled his brown eyes in mock exasperation as he cut the medic's soothing commentary off, "The guy you see all the time is just chopped liver."
Junior glanced over at his father then before looking up at Wash, a question looming in his blue eyes. Wash couldn't help but nod his head slightly and smile down at him in encouragement. With another grin splitting his face, Junior unwrapped his arms from around Wash and ran the three steps back to his parent, once again grasping onto his hand tightly.
"Thanks for the pity, son." Tucker teased in a fond tone as he playfully rubbed the top of Junior's head. There were even tears building in his eyes at the sudden display of affection that Wash knew the dark-skinned man would vehemently deny if someone chose to bring them up later.
"So, did you guys just get back from the mission?"
As oddly tempted as he was to tease the younger soldier, Wash decided it was best to focus on business first.
"Yeah," Tucker nodded his head, "You just missed us handing over the tech."
"Oh, and talking more with Locus and Felix!" Donut added in a second later, smiling naively, "They're a pair, huh?"
"Yeah, they're something, Donut." Wash stated noncommittally.
Tucker raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. No doubt he was already well-aware of the concerns both Carolina and Wash had over the mercenaries. But, since Tucker knew that the blond was probably trying to avoid worrying either Doc or Donut just yet, he chose to not remark on his choice of words. Wash was immensely grateful for that.
"Caboose and Sheila were helping Sarge put away some of the stuff that was brought back." Doc informed him, "Both Simmons and Doctor Grey are working on other things too."
No doubt Lopez would be helping with the salvage tech now that Junior wasn't wandering around his workbench. Though the Spanish-speaker would also often spend a lot of his time simply following Caboose around with a fire extinguisher whenever the blue-armored man was anywhere remotely close to machinery in the warehouse too. It was a task the robot had started up years ago as a survival mechanism that had no doubt saved a lot of lives and cut down on repair bills too.
"You just missed Grif! He was going to go get something to eat." Donut added in.
"Probably a whole lot of somethings." Tucker couldn't help but joke.
"He certainly is lively when it comes to food, huh?" Doc remarked with a laugh.
Tucker snorted, "It's the only thing he gets lively for." Though not a second later he amended his statement in a lower decibel, "Save for maybe one pasty-ass nerd."
Wash decided to move the conversation to a different topic before both Tucker and Donut had the chance to talk more about potential matchmaking scenarios they should test out to finally help get Grif and Simmons together.
They'd tried several already. The last one that Wash knew of had involved stealing clothes, a large jar of bacon grease, and a locked shower. Simmons wasn't able to even look at any of them after Sarge had been the one to accidentally open the door to said shower and saw the two of them. Hell, Grif had run the most that Wash had ever seen him run trying to throttle both of their "helpful" teammates.
Yeah, he could only deal with one thing at a time. So, it really was best to steer the conversation away from that subject before a new crisis reared its head.
"Where's Carolina?" He asked, noting that two of the people in their group had been unaccounted for so far. It wouldn't shock him if she'd slipped away to trail the mercenaries once they had left the building.
"Oh, she apparently dragged Church off to give him an earful about something he did." Donut told him, looking thoughtful, "He really needs to just do himself a favor and beat off that excess anger one of these days."
"Bow—" Tucker began.
"Don't." Wash raised his hand to cut off Tucker's trademark comment before he had the chance to finish it.
"Maybe you should try beating some of your stress off too, Wash." Doc, completely oblivious to the innocent innuendo that Donut had just uttered, said in an attempt to try to be helpful since the Freelancer looked rather stressed.
"Yeah, Wash, why don't you?" Tucker looked as though he were about to faint from the monumental effort it took to keep from bursting out with laughter.
Wash would almost be proud of him, if this conversation hadn't turned so swiftly in his general direction. He could feel his face heating up, and he sighed.
"I'm not even going to try responding to any of that." He stated simply, a headache now looming on the horizon.
Donut and Doc seemed completely unaware of what had happened. Junior just seemed confused by his reaction to the remark too, which Wash was also glad for. At least no one else had been there. That was something.
"Anyways, we were just heading out when I thought I saw you." Donut thankfully carried on a second later with a large smile on his face, "Talk about good timing! Want to hang out with Doc and me?"
Having accompanied Donut before on "nights out on the town," Wash knew he wouldn't have the strength or energy to keep up with the duo.
Besides, he cast a brief glance over at Doc the second that Donut had extended the invite. He saw a momentary flicker of disappointment cross over the brown-haired man's face before he covered it up with an accepting smile.
Wash had long since suspected that Doc had been nursing a bit of a crush on Donut that he just hadn't gotten the courage to admit yet, and that moment pretty much all but confirmed it in his mind. The blond knew that this was probably one of the few nights in some time when the two's time off had overlapped so well.
Wash smiled gratefully at Donut before shaking his head, "Thank you, but I was thinking of just getting something to eat and heading to bed."
A look of unconcealed relief flooded over Doc's features then, his smile widening a bit and becoming much more genuine and not forced.
Donut pretend pouted, "Aww, you're no fun! But getting your beauty sleep is important too." He turned another bright smile onto Doc, "I guess that means there will be more excitement for us!"
"We'll have to have twice as much for everyone else then." Doc stated happily, clearly eager at the prospect.
He turned to Wash and the others then, "Remember, eating healthy is important too!"
Tucker scoffed at the advice, "Fuck that, Doc! Tonight's a junk food night!" He declared before looking down at the boy standing next to him, "Right, kiddo?"
Junior smiled and nodded his head before waving goodbye to the purple and pink duo as they took their leave, Donut practically skipping in anticipation of the night that lay ahead of them with a perfectly contented-looking Doc at his side.
Tucker turned to Wash then, grinning, "I promised Junior that we'd get dinner together when I got back." He told him, "Since you said you were doing the same, wanna come with?"
The younger man paused for a moment, before adding, "Unless you just said that so they could have some alone time together."
Wash was almost tempted to ask just how long Tucker had known about Doc's crush too when a stomach rumble came from the child still standing next to the other man. The boy looked sheepish, but he started tugging a bit at Tucker's hand all the same, evidently taking that as a sign that he needed food as quickly as possible.
Since Wash couldn't really resist the chance to spend time with Junior, or his father for reasons he once again was forcibly pushing out of his mind, he nodded in response to Tucker's earlier invite. Junior grinned at the confirmation, latching on to Wash's hand with his free one as the two adults began walking towards the shopping and restaurant district with him excitedly hopping on the balls of his feet in-between them.
"You know, Tucker," Wash began after a minute of silence, "Eating something healthy every once in a while like Doc suggested isn't a bad thing."
"If we're eating out, it's not going to be healthy." Tucker stated adamantly, "We're getting burgers. They come with lettuce and tomatoes. Close enough."
Wash cast him a dubious look.
"It's like a mini-salad!" Tucker exclaimed in defense.
"Not in the slightest." Wash was quick to disagree with a shake of his head, "At all."
"We had broccoli for lunch." Tucker's voice took on a pleading note, "So, I kind of owe the poor kid this."
The agreeing nod and grimace at the memory of torturous broccoli eating this comment brought to Junior's face was enough to almost have Wash laughing.
He sighed and slightly smiled instead, "All right then. Burgers it is since you've both clearly suffered enough for today." He remarked, rolling his eyes at the same time.
"Damn straight!" Tucker nodded, grinning.
Wash looked away at the tingle he felt just then, his own smile widening a fraction in response.
"Did the training go okay?" The dark-skinned man asked a moment later to fill the sudden all-encompassing silence.
Wash nodded.
"You have a lot more patience than I do." Tucker told him, looking rather impressed.
Wash shrugged, "It's a challenge, but there are improvements every day."
If Bitters wasn't being as difficult as he was currently, the blond imagined there would be even more. Tucker seemed to be mulling over what he had said, though when he spoke up next he changed topics completely.
"The mercenaries certainly helped us out on this mission." He remarked casually, glancing over at Wash to gauge his reaction.
Wash stopped walking, staring straight ahead in front of him as he did so. He had to resist the urge to tighten his grip on Junior protectively out of some never-completely buried instinct.
"That's good." He finally got out, not meeting Tucker's gaze, "I know that Doyle in particular was hoping they would."
"Yeah, but Carolina wasn't too fond of them." Tucker's tone was conversational, but Wash knew him well enough to know that he was observing Wash's reactions closely as he pressed on, "I'm guessing you aren't either?"
Wash didn't deny it, opting for silence instead.
Tucker sighed, "Fair enough." He said after a terse few seconds, "Tell me, Wash, since we all know you've been out playing detective on your own, have you found anything we should be worried about yet?"
He was asking as a concerned parent, as someone who had been through shit and didn't want himself or any of the other people living here to have to go through more. It was a valid question, given the situation. Wash respected Tucker, cared enough about him to answer honestly.
"Not yet." He admitted.
The meaning behind that particular statement hung heavy in the air between them. Tucker felt it too. Just because there hadn't been anything found yet didn't mean something wasn't going on. It didn't mean they were going to stop looking either. The teal-armored man swore under his breath at that realization, neither man looking at the other just then.
Junior glanced at them both nervously, scared by the sudden tenseness. He squeezed his father's hand questioningly. Tucker smiled softly at the boy, squeezing the small hand he held protectively in his own to reassure his son.
"It's okay, Junior." He told him in a soothing voice, "You know Wash. Dude's just being his paranoid self again."
"I really wish it is just that this time, Tucker." Wash remarked quietly, "Truly."
Tucker glanced over at him, and Wash couldn't help but sigh once more.
"I really don't want anything else bad happening to any of us." He admitted at length, "Or to Chorus in general."
The look Tucker gave him just then was one of complete understanding, "I know. After everything, believe me, I get it." He assured him, "I just want us all to be okay too."
Wash was pretty sure the sudden urge to pull the other man into a hug just then along with Junior would be a bit hard to explain. Instead, he coughed awkwardly, noting with surprise that Tucker was fidgeting nervously and was apparently finding the street fascinating at the exact same time.
Junior, having grown rather used to these awkward moments between the two adults while growing up, took the lead then and started dragging the still very flustered men towards his favorite restaurant.
The pieces of scrapped tech that Simmons had been examining were scattered all over the table in the smaller workspace he was using. The cyborg remained hunched over in his chair, gazing down at the items assembled before him and running his metallic hand over one of the larger pieces.
There was still a small amount of energy radiating from it, which meant that despite it looking as though this was just an inside component of some larger machine out there somewhere that had been ripped forcibly from its main body, there was still some kind of reserve power flowing through it.
A piece like this was definitely something that could be worked into larger equipment as a power conduit or something else of a similar nature once more tests were run on it. It was for finds like that that even the most innocuous-looking material was brought back during salvage runs. You never knew exactly what you truly had and what could ultimately prove useful until you ran diagnostics.
As the faint traces of energy coming from the circuitry continued to dance in front of his cybernetic eye, something that had admittedly taken him a while to get used to, Simmons absentmindedly reached over with his human hand to the data pad resting close by.
Without even looking down at it as he'd used devices like it for so long that he had their programs and layouts completely memorized by this point, he began entering in the important data points for the log for this particular piece. Both the ones starting to now flash in the background of his red-tinted cybernetic vision and his own human observations along with the more thorough tests he had run.
The scanning feature of his cybernetic sight was a new upgrade that Doctor Grey had devised for him a while back. He honestly wasn't sure about it yet, though he was grateful that she had the foresight to give him the option to turn it off after he had once looked at a microwave with it turned on.
Following the data point entry, he pressed the completed button to finish up the log before carefully pushing the scrapped tech piece to the portion of the table where he was sorting the examined items to. His gaze went over to the other recently collected scrap that he still needed to examine on the opposite side of the table's surface, a tired sigh passing from his lips.
Sarge had gotten both Caboose and Sheila to go with him to store the energy containers for processing later, so this pile of scrap was all that was left here to go through from the day's scavenge mission. Lopez and Junior had gone for a walk outside earlier. Simmons suspected that the brown-armored robot had just wanted an excuse to get away from Church's grumbling for a bit and Donut's incessant chatter.
Simmons also suspected that on their way back they would be running into Tucker since the dark-skinned man had wasted no time in heading out to find his son after dropping off the items they had acquired outside of Chorus.
Doctor Grey had gone to the clinic even before Simmons had returned from the apartment complex earlier.
Doc and Donut had both been disappointed that the recovery team had returned just as they were getting ready to leave, but neither seemed too eager to volunteer extra hours all the same.
In a way, Simmons was almost relieved that everyone else was either busy elsewhere in the building or off enjoying their free time, since that meant he could lose himself in his work without any interruptions for a while.
On the other hand, it also sort of sucked too because there were no distractions from his own thoughts. There was nothing to keep his mind from wandering, nor anything keeping the usual threads of worry he tried to avoid dwelling on too much from seeping in.
The redhead already knew about the newest personnel additions to Chorus. He doubted there were any residents who hadn't seen the influx of steel-armored individuals by now. The cyborg also knew that there was a mixture of relief and wariness surrounding their presence here.
He could understand why, though it was really too early for him to make any judgement calls just yet. Simmons had briefly met Felix and Locus, the group's leaders, when they had come to the warehouse with Grif and the others to drop the gathered supplies off.
They had seemed decent enough in their mannerisms, though for some reason Simmons had the distinct impression that he wouldn't want to be anywhere alone with them. Though, in fairness, he kind of always felt that way about strangers so that was probably neither here nor there.
They had not stayed long though, as Carolina seemed quite insistent on showing them the door the second the supplies had been unloaded. Felix had barely gotten out a joking remark about how maybe someone could give them a tour next time if the "scary lady" wasn't around before said door had nearly slammed in his face.
The cyan-armored Freelancer had promptly grabbed onto her protesting little brother following that and proceeded to drag Church off somewhere. Most likely to warn him against spending too much time near the mercenaries until they knew that they were in fact trustworthy.
That had been around the time that Tucker had gone out to find Junior, and when Sarge had gotten Caboose and Sheila to help him due to their greater strength too.
As for Grif? The fat-ass hadn't even had the balls to say a word to Simmons, or really to anyone else for that matter, when they had come in from their mission.
He even ignored Sarge's insult about having gone missing beforehand and wasting everyone's valuable time in having to go find his sorry orange butt, though he had stared at Simmons like a deer frozen in headlights when they had first saw one another.
Then the tan-skinned man had unceremoniously dumped the scrap pile onto the work table as neither Tucker nor Grif ever bothered categorizing things to any noticeable attempt when they were picking things up, much to Simmons' constant chagrin. After that, he pulled Donut off to the side to show the younger man something before he left for the night.
Simmons hadn't been able to hear what they were talking about or really see what it was that Grif showed Donut in the first place, and the two had quickly left following the exchange without giving the curious redhead even a chance to ask about it.
Not that it mattered in the long run, really. Ever since he had known Grif, Simmons had witnessed similar events play out. Sometimes when Grif went shopping, or just went out in general, he would immediately have a few words with Donut while sometimes giving him some secretive object in the process, and then afterwards it was as if the moment had never occurred.
Grif never told anyone what was going on, no matter who asked. He just kept telling Simmons it wasn't anything to show or share at the moment. Whenever Simmons asked Donut about it, he'd smile at him and say something about how it wouldn't be fair to Grif for him to ruin the surprise.
Sometimes Simmons would hear Donut gushing excitedly to Doc or Sheila about a secret "project" after one of their uber-classified gossip huddles that Simmons usually wasn't asked to attend. Not that he would want to go or anything, but it would be nice to be asked every once in a while.
It was something that Simmons was often curious about, but had more or less learned to accept as a continued mystery at the moment given how many attempts he'd made at finding out what the two were up to.
Still though, Grif not saying even one word to him after everything that had happened earlier? Maybe the tan-skinned man just didn't want to get into another argument considering how things had played out before. Simmons had spent all of his free time cleaning his own fucking apartment thanks to that jackass!
The cyborg wasn't sure if he felt thankful for that or hurt. It was probably a combination of both, and that sucked for all sorts of reasons he was desperate not to dwell on currently. Sighing again. Simmons absentmindedly wiped at his human eye. He just had gotten some dust in it, it wasn't like he crying again or anything, damn it!
The redhead then reached out for another piece of scrap that needed to be looked over. He stopped just seconds before his fingers reached it when he heard shuffling coming from the now open doorway in front of him. He must have been really lost in his own thoughts not to have even heard the door opening earlier.
Grif was standing there, completely out of armor now and in civilian clothes. He was rather awkwardly holding out in front of him what looked like a large bag of food as though it might serve as a shield of some kind should Simmons try throwing something at him.
"Figured you might be hungry or something." He muttered under his breath in response to Simmons' questioning stare, "It's sort of a peace offering too since I was fucking stupid earlier."
"A—apology food?" Simmons asked dumbly, fairly certain that he had heard Grif talking about something like that before.
The sheepish look that had been on Grif's face when he had spoken up earlier melted away into a surprisingly eager one at the knowledge that Simmons had remembered one of their countless bored-as-fuck sentry discussion topics from years ago.
He nodded in confirmation, "Apology food."
There was an awkward moment of silence following that as Grif waited for Simmons to respond further, while the cyborg continued to stare at him mutely as his brain was still trying to process Grif actually fucking apologizing at all. It was such a rare event that one couldn't necessarily blame poor Simmons for being momentarily brain broken due to shock.
Finally, Grif sighed impatiently, "Come on, Simmons. Don't leave me hanging here!" He waved the bag a bit for added emphasis, "I even got you a salad because you're so weirdly health-conscious, even though you know I think they were invented by douches who kick puppies."
Simmons sighed at hearing yet another evil salad conspiracy theory, if only he could say that was the first one he had ever heard but that was sadly far from true, before asking, "What did you get for yourself then?"
He knew Dexter Grif well enough to know that he would damn well have bought himself dinner too.
"Two double cheeseburgers, three extra-large fries, and four of those little pie-things." He sighed sadly after recalling his list of food items, "Cutting back on food is hard."
It really wasn't all that terrifying or shocking anymore to Simmons that Grif honestly considered that "cutting back" on calories.
"You should have gotten a salad too." Simmons couldn't stop himself from berating the chubby man all the same for it, "Seriously, Grif, your eating habits have somehow managed to get even worse since we came to Chorus."
Which was honestly really saying something since Grif had always had the uncanny ability to be able to sniff out the best spots to find unhealthy food to gorge himself on even during the war. If he kept it up like he was doing now? Well, okay, Simmons actually felt as though it was truly a fucking miracle that Grif hadn't somehow had a heart attack yet, and the prospect of him ever having one didn't exactly sit well with Simmons.
The nagging over his nutritional habits yet again caused a flash of anger over Grif's features, "That really isn't any of your concern now, is it?"
A burst of annoyance flared up in Simmons at that declaration, "That isn't true, Grif!" He yelled back in response before he could truly think over what he was saying.
Simmons wanted to throttle him then and there, especially given how fucking often they had argued and bickered over this very thing before. Normally, Grif would counter with some sarcastic retort right back, but he suddenly seemed to deflate at the prospect of the fight continuing.
Shoulders slumping a little bit, he sighed and tried holding out the bag again, "Look, Simmons, do you want the food or not?"
Before Simmons could respond or try to get his thoughts more crystallized around the previous matter he still didn't think was put to rest yet, what was left of his stomach just then decided to grumble loudly at the prospect of getting some food in it.
The flesh and blood portion of Simmons' face was already beginning to turn red in embarrassment even before he saw Grif's eyebrow raise in response and a teasing smirk suddenly emerging on the asshole's smug face.
"F—fine, I'll take you up on the apology food. This time." He managed to squeak out in a rather valiant effort to save what little face he had left in this conversation, "But this had better be the last time you do something like that in my room."
He had to bite back on the sudden urge to add "without me" that came into his thoughts just then, glad that his face was still pretty red from earlier to cover up the new blush that line of thinking caused.
A look of relief washed over Grif's face at Simmons' words, and he gave a slight nod in agreement to Simmons' terms.
It didn't take the two of them any time at all to clear space at the table for their dinner. Food was always an excellent motivator to get Grif to actually be helpful at cleaning.
As Simmons slowly munched away on his salad whilst trying not to look too directly at Grif inhaling his food without even stopping for two seconds to chew in-between far too large bites in order to keep his own appetite up, the redhead tried to get a conversation going. If only to keep Grif from choking.
"So, what are your thoughts on the mercenaries?" He asked quietly after figuring it was a safe enough topic for the two of them to discuss, "Since those two went out with you guys."
Grif paused from devouring one whole carton of fries to shrug absentmindedly at the question, "They were a help this time. But, I mean, it's not like I can't understand where Carolina's paranoia about them is coming from."
"Yeah." Simmons could only really agree with that comment.
The tan man shrugged again, "Hopefully they'll earn that trust soon enough and everything can get back to fucking normal around here."
It was pretty much all they could hope for at this point. Simmons nodded his head once more in quiet agreement. Another silence fell between them following that, both awkward but also familiarly easy at the same time.
Simmons picked at a tomato on his plate, a slight smile coming to his lips as the silence continued. The awkwardness that had been permeating it was melting away more and more as the seconds passed into a sense of contentment as he recalled just how much he had always enjoyed these types of moments with Grif.
The second he worked up the nerve to glance up again, he saw the fond sort of upwards tilt of Grif's mouth and Simmons wondered if maybe Grif was thinking and feeling along the same lines as him. Until, that is, since Grif had been staring at Simmons that whole time evidently, he realized that the redhead was now regarding him thoughtfully too.
The realization caused Grif to go oddly tense for a moment, a frown settling over the smile he'd had moments before as he suddenly worked up the nerve to suddenly spit out, "What happened before with Cass didn't mean anything."
The emphatic declaration had Simmons blinking in surprise for a second, his face heating up once more when his brain was finally able to process just what Grif was referring to, "I—I know."
Simmons was desperately hoping that would be the end of this topic because it was just uncomfortable to talk about, and he really didn't want to dwell on the feelings that he'd been trying so hard to avoid thinking a ton on any more than he already had today.
But, evidently Grif getting out whatever he really wanted to say about the subject just then was incredibly important to him. The expression on the genetically-engineered man's face was uncharacteristically serious, and his brown eyes never once left Simmons' own as he continued.
"It was beyond fucking stupid to do that in your room. I'm sorry. Fuck, I wasn't thinking at all." He was rambling, his voice growing more and more urgent with each word that came out of his mouth, "It didn't mean anything. She's just a friend."
"I—I know all of that, Grif." Simmons was starting to get even more flustered and put off-guard due to how strangely adamant Grif was being.
It was as if Grif really wanted him to understand and make sure that Simmons truly forgave him for what had happened and wasn't just saying so currently. It was making the cyborg wonder if perhaps the other man felt self-conscious about the whole thing due to his unique situation. Keeping that in mind, Simmons somehow managed to force a reassuring smile onto his face for Grif's sake, despite just really not wanting to talk about what had happened anymore.
It was enough to get Grif to stop mid-ramble, and Simmons pushed forward by speaking up in a shaking voice, "I…figured you might be needing release soon." He assured him, "And sex is just sex to you, right?"
Grif frowned at Simmons' choice of words, and for a moment it seemed as if he was contemplating arguing. Ultimately though, he shut his mouth tightly and swallowed back whatever he had been thinking of saying in that vein.
Simmons nodded his head as if that meant that Grif had just agreed with him a he was just desperate to get this conversation over and done with, "So long as you don't do it in my room again, it—it's fine."
It wasn't, not really. But admitting that would mean also admitting a lot of other things to Grif that he was definitely not ready to do yet.
"It's too bad we couldn't just go out then instead." Grif muttered under his breath rather sullenly.
Simmons tried not to feel too happy or fall into his usual low self-esteem disbelief that Grif had seemed to be implying that he had wanted to hang out with him more than having sex, and he had to look away from the other man in the hopes that the sudden back-in-full-force blush over his skin would fade quickly.
He coughed awkwardly to try to cover his reaction up more, "Th—that would have…ah, pro—probably made things even weirder in the long run since you weren't feeling too well, don't—don't you think?" The cyborg managed to stutter out.
The redhead was getting rather desperate at this point to find any way to change the topic of conversation because Grif still had that uncharacteristically intense look on his face. He opened his mouth again to say something, and Simmons reached out suddenly across the table for the now ice-cold cup of coffee he had brought into the workspace with him.
Just as he was pulling it to his mouth for a nervous swig, his vision went completely dark.
Simmons' hand suddenly lost its strength, and when he became aware again in the next second it was to the sight and sound of the cup crashing onto the table below. Its liquid contents spilling over everything.
Grif was at his side instantly as Simmons continued to simply stare at the coffee droplets rolling off the smooth surface of the table. His brain was taking a few moments to process what had happened, and his first thoughts were an odd jumble of observations.
The food was ruined, along with all of the work he'd done already. Would the tech even work now at all? If his father had seen this, he would have screamed and yelled at him. Maybe even hit him.
The redhead swallowed nervously at that last thought, trying to keep the old and familiar wave of panic he felt from getting too out of hand. He hoped Sarge wouldn't be too mad or disappointed though.
"What the fuck happened?!"
It was Grif who ultimately got him to think about the present, the sight of him filling his vision. The concern so plainly evident in his question just then an anchor that pulled Simmons back into a more cognizant, functioning mindset.
Simmons blinked as his thoughts started to catch up to speed once more. He honestly wasn't sure himself about the answer to Grif's question, as the "blackout" he had just experienced wasn't really a typical issue or problem he had yet encountered with his cybernetics. In fact, he already seemed pretty much back to normal now.
Not bothering to wait for Simmons to properly formulate a response, Grif reached out and grabbed the other man's arm, already starting to pull Simmons towards the door as he did so. There was only a momentary shake in Grif's body at the contact, most likely since he had gotten release earlier as well as due to the adrenaline pumping through his system as his concern for the cyborg was overriding his body's usual reaction to touching someone.
"Come on. Let's find Doctor Grey." He said rather emphatically, in almost the same tone he had always used with Kai when he felt she needed to see a doctor.
Simmons pulled back, managing to get the two of them to stop due to his cybernetic enhancements even though it was a struggle with Grif actually actively trying to usher him out the door as he was doing with his own considerable body strength. Simmons always forgot that Grif was pretty strong due to his size.
Still, the cyborg really didn't want to be a bother to anyone considering the issue seemed pretty minor currently. After all, Doctor Grey and Sarge already used up enough of their free time patching him up.
"I'm—I'm fine now, Grif!" He protested, "There's no point in bothering her for something that only lasted a second!"
Grif looked ready to argue. His body just then was completely tense and rigid. The grip he had on Simmons' arm tightened a fraction, as if he was trying to reassure himself that the redhead was still there and not about to pull away from him.
Simmons tried again, "I'm probably just tired."
Grif considered that. At length, he nodded slightly, "All right. Fine." He told Simmons, "No doctor yet then."
However, Simmons' relief over having convinced Grif he was okay was short-lived when him relaxing slightly from trying to dig his feet into the ground as he had been doing before proved to be more than enough give to allow Grif to pull him completely from the workspace.
They were still headed in the direction of the clinic area despite what Grif had said earlier.
"Grif! I need to work still!" he protested, tugging backwards again, "Let go, fat-ass!"
"You should have thought of that before volunteering for an extra shift that didn't help your piss-poor sleeping habits any."
Simmons stilled at the sudden remark from Grif, which only allowed the other to pull him all the more efficiently towards their intended destination. Staring determinedly forward, the older man wasn't looking at him at all. A dawning realization came over Simmons that the remark meant that Grif had somehow found out the real reason why he didn't make it to their joint night out.
"I'm sorry, I…" He spluttered weakly before trailing off completely, unsure of how exactly to explain or apologize really for what had happened without revealing a whole lot more than he wanted to in the process.
"Since you weren't helping yourself any in the rest department, I'm making sure you at least lie the fuck down for a while." Grif continued talking as if Simmons hadn't tried speaking up at all, "I'll get Sarge to yell at you later for overworking yourself again."
Simmons said nothing in response. His brain was still trying to come up with a plausible, not-really-going-into-feelings-territory explanation for why he hadn't told Grif the full truth behind skipping out before when the tan man preemptively cut him off with a tired sigh.
"Don't bother, Simmons. It's fine." He told him, "I know how much of a workaholic kiss-ass you are."
Grif then glanced over his shoulder at the slightly younger man, a wry smile on his face and brown eyes still underscored with more than just a passing tinge of concern, "So long as you get your rest now, let's just call it even. Sound good?"
Simmons couldn't help but smile back weakly, nodding his head slightly in agreement. Neither one of them chose to comment on the continued protective grip Grif had on Simmons' arm still. Or on how, upon reaching the clinic, Grif actually pulled up a chair to the cot that Simmons laid down on so that he could make sure that the redhead actually stayed put and properly rested for once.
Even though he was convinced that Grif was worrying over nothing, Simmons had to admit the concern felt oddly nice all the same. Comforting too.
The cyborg just hoped, as he screwed his eyes tightly shut a second later, that the no doubt tomato-red hue his face probably took on following that line of thought wasn't nearly as visible as he felt like it was.
Author's Notes: Here we have a slightly larger third chapter of this story! :D Lots of characters were introduced in this part, backstories and world building continued to be fleshed out, there was some hinting at something possibly going on behind the scenes in the plot, and there were some more character interactions in general, as well as a bit more relationship development in the romance department too!
Bones is supposed to look a bit like Malese Jow, the actress currently playing the character of Linda Park on the TV show The Flash if you are curious behind my head canon for her! :D
I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hoped that you enjoyed reading it! :) Thank you very much again for taking the time to do so!