Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Chapter Twenty:
They were walking further and further away from the warehouse, and Richard "Dick" Simmons wasn't quite sure what was on Grif's mind. All he could really tell was that the genetically engineered man seemed unusually serious and silent, walking with purpose through the Chorus streets.
That alone was enough to inwardly freak the cyborg the fuck out. After all, whenever Dexter Grif acted determined without food as a visible goal, shit had to be pretty fucking bad. Eventually the redhead couldn't take the intense quiet anymore and stopped on an empty patch of sidewalk, causing Grif to stop with him.
"Hey, Grif, it's…it's nice weather today, don't you think?" Simmons started rambling nervously, not even bothering to notice by now that the sky had started to darken to nighttime, "Maybe a little cloudy for my tastes, but—!"
"Simmons." Grif cut the slightly younger man off from his rambling by just saying his name with an oddly urgent voice, the orange-armored soldier's usual apathetic tone completely gone.
Simmons shut up immediately, closing his mouth and waiting for Grif to say whatever was weighing so heavily on his mind. Seconds turned into minutes of uneasy silence. Simmons fidgeted nervously as Grif continued staring into the space behind the redhead with a tense frown across his usually relaxed features.
At long last, Grif finally spoke, though his dark eyes stayed focused on anything but Simmons, "Do you ever wonder why we're here? Why we aren't fucking together yet?" he asked rather bluntly.
That question definitely caught Simmons off-guard. His face suddenly felt as though it were on fire. His heart, or the cybernetic equivalent thereof, skipped quite a few beats. The cyborg was trying to wrack his brain for something, anything really, to say in response and failing miserably even though his inner-panic had resulted in what sounded like a shrill scream resounding in his brain.
Grif thankfully beat Simmons to the punch, his tan-skinned face looking rather red now too, "I think that…I probably love you, Simmons." He stated quietly, and Simmons found himself somewhat annoyed that Grif used his normal "maverick" tone as if he was talking about his favorite snack cake.
Still, what the chubby man said definitely gave Simmons pause. He was fairly certain his entire body was going to short-circuit right then and there. Though leave it to his brain, in its frantic goings-on of trying to figure out what to say, to latch on to one particular component of Grif's lazy-as-shit confession.
"Wait a minute, fat-ass." Simmons said as his eyes narrowed and his voice took on its usual incredulous high-pitch, "Fucking probably?"
"What?" Grif was finally staring directly at him, though he was looking as if Simmons might sprout two heads any second now.
"You said that you were probably in love with me, asshole." Simmons couldn't help but elaborate now that his brain had focused on a tangent that wouldn't turn his whole being into mush, "What the fuck is up with that?"
Grif blinked at the question before a sudden shit-eating smile spread across his face, "Now I know I definitely love you, kiss-ass, because your whiny bitching just then wasn't nearly as annoying to me as it should have been."
Simmons was fairly certain his face must be as red a fire hydrant right now. He stood there with his mouth gaping open like a fish, trying to come up with something coherent to say and failing spectacularly: "Uh…"
"I just want to know how you feel now too, you dumb fucking nerd." Grif continued as he smirked with an oddly serious glint in his dark eyes.
Simmons was still drawing an unhelpful blank on what to say even though the cyborg logically knew he needed to respond. By this point, Simmons was seriously beginning to wonder if he was experiencing a stroke (was he fucking smelling toast?!).
However, there was a voice in the back of his mind that was just screaming "Fuck it!" over and over.
For once, Simmons decided to give in to that voice and just show the fat-ass how he had felt for all these years. Simmons leaned forward into Grif's personal space, lips nearly brushing Grif's own…
When, suddenly, there was a loud explosion somewhere behind them just as Simmons' lips were about to make desperate contact.
The maroon-wearing soldier didn't even have time to register what was happening before the artificial lighting on the streets around them flickered off.
The last thing Simmons heard before he crashed to the ground was Grif calling out his name.
The bright energy from Lavernius Tucker's sword faded from view as he deactivated it. The dark-skinned man held up his free hand at the same time to prevent David Washington from charging at him again, the former Freelancer's combat knife still in hand.
"As much fun as you kicking my ass in the name of training is," Tucker started as soon as he had enough air in his lungs to do so, "It's getting pretty dark, dude. We have to go pick up Junior."
Washington relented wordlessly at the reminder that Tucker's son and the others were no doubt already waiting for them, holstering his blade as Tucker did the same with his sword's hilt.
"You've actually been keeping up rather well." Washington commented observationally, gray eyes glancing at the younger man.
Tucker snorted derisively as they began walking, "I'm not sure if that's what I'd call it."
"I'm being serious, Tucker." Wash fell in step next to him, "If you'd just apply yourself more seriously—!"
"I'd still be nowhere near your level, Wash." Tucker informed the blond matter-of-factly as he rolled his eyes. This was the beginning of a conversation that they'd had a million times before.
A sigh escaped Washington's lips as though he knew that he wouldn't be able to win the debate this time either thanks to Tucker's mile-wide stubborn streak.
Instead, he seemed to choose changing tactics entirely.
"Once we pick up Junior," he began, eyeing Tucker rather shyly, "Would you like to visit the cat colony together?"
Tucker paused before turning to stare at the former Freelancer carefully. The teal-armored soldier raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a damn word. Silence from Tucker was unnerving.
Washington fidgeted under his gaze, "I—I mean…I'm sure Junior would love it, and…"
The genetically-engineered man trailed off when Tucker flashed him a grin, "Fuck, yeah! That would be awesome, dude!" He stated enthusiastically, "Junior will flip his shit!"
Wash relaxed somewhat, smiling slightly, "You think so?" He asked, relieved to find that he wasn't being mocked just yet.
"Of course!" Tucker's grin widened, "He fucking loves cats. Thanks to you."
The blond-haired male's smile deepened at the comment. Washington looked as though he were about to say more when, suddenly, a loud explosion cut him off.
"What the fuck was that?!" Tucker demanded a second later, looking in the direction of the explosion. It was easy to spot since smoke was currently streaming from it. Tucker's expression turned serious as he realized just where the explosion had come from.
"The gate!" Washington stated the obvious a moment later, just as the power all around them flickered off.
In the looming darkness suddenly enshrouding Chorus, the two men looked towards each other and nodded grimly. Then they were off and running towards the warehouse.
As they rounded a corner, they nearly ran into Doc and Donut. It seemed their two friends appeared to share their thoughts and were heading towards the warehouse from a side street.
Washington had to actually grab a hold of Tucker's shoulder to prevent him from slamming into the pink-armored soldier in particular.
"Whoa!" Doc exclaimed, laughing nervously as he rubbed the back of his brown-haired head, "Fancy running into you guys here, huh?"
"That wasn't the good kind of 'rock my world,'" Donut elaborated not a second later, "So we were just heading over to the warehouse to check on everyone."
Tucker nodded his head in understanding, "So were we." He told them urgently, "Junior's there!"
The teal-wearing man didn't have to mention that he was worried because his son was scared of the dark. It was no doubt already plainly written on his features despite the inky blackness surrounding them.
Washington, who was still gripping Tucker's shoulder from earlier, gave the younger man an encouraging squeeze before reluctantly dropping his hand to his side, "Let's hurry then." He said in his Freelancer-taking-charge tone of voice.
The other three men nodded as Doc vocalized: "Right! I've got the aloe vera!"
The group of four was off again, running through the darkened streets of Chorus on the familiar path to the warehouse. As they got closer to their destination, an unsettling feeling of nervousness and anxiety washed over Tucker.
"Hey now, fellas. What's the rush?" A familiar voice asked from the shadows to their right, causing the small group of four to stop in their tracks.
They turned to find Felix standing there with a group of his steel-armored mercenaries behind him, completely relaxed. The mercenary in steel-and-orange armor was tossing his knife into the air and catching it by the hilt almost playfully.
Tucker took a step forward, gesturing all around them at the suffocating lack of light in Chorus, "Can't you fucking tell what's going on?"
Felix caught the hilt of his knife once more and laughed, "Oh, this?" He glanced over at the darkened cloud of smoke coming from the gate further away, "All of this is to be expected."
Before anyone could react, the brown-haired man raced forward…and Tucker felt an incredibly sharp, burning pain in his left side. He glanced down at the knife that was protruding there, his body suddenly going weak.
Felix smirked as he pulled the knife out, resulting in a whole new burst of agony in the dark-skinned man's side. The mercenary grabbed the hilt of Tucker's alien sword, pulling it back with him as he did so.
"Don't worry, Tucker," Felix stated patronizingly, "I'll take good care of this and your kid."
Tucker felt himself sink towards the ground as blood dripped from his side. His legs buckled just as he heard what sounded like an animalistic growl come from behind him.
The last things Tucker saw before falling unconscious were Doc and Donut looming over him worriedly, and a thoroughly pissed off-looking Agent Washington charging at Felix.
It was, in all reality, probably a good thing that the lieutenants had been making their way over to Cass' tavern when the blackout occurred. Not that Antoine Bitters would ever admit that, especially when he knew that their initial purpose for doing so had been to spy on Andersmith's "date."
In fact, as they had been making their way towards the tavern, Bitters had let out a long-suffering sigh as the dark-skinned man wondered just how he had gotten dragged into this mess.
That was when they all heard it: the loud, distinctive "bang!" of a gunshot directly after the explosion that resulted in the power going out all over Chorus.
The gunshot had been very close to Cass' restaurant.
The others tensed at the noise, and Bitters couldn't help but do so as well. First an explosion at the gate, then the power going off and now gunfire?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthews staring at him fearfully, questioningly. Bitters couldn't help but nod his multi-colored haired head in response towards the yellow-trimmed lieutenant, not realizing that the rest of the rookies had also glanced his way as well for some kind of affirmation.
That little action was all it took to get the group racing to the tavern, the old-fashioned door still swinging open as if someone had left in a hurry. Bitters registered the sight as odd in the back of his mind, but his training as both a genetically engineered soldier and a lieutenant here in Chorus kicked in before he could really investigate who had left the building they were currently entering.
"Miss Cass?" Palomo, surprisingly serious, called out into the space beyond, "Andersmith?"
"We're here!" The brunette's voice called back a second later, frantic, "Help! He's been shot!"
Bitters raced inside the tavern proper with the others hot on his heels, stopping only to gauge the situation that he found as Palomo ran towards their friends. Cass was on the floor by the bar with a slumped over Andersmith cradled in her lap, a pool of blood from the gunshot wound in his side congealing all around them.
The woman glanced up at them, frightened but evidently thankful for their presence all the same. Bitters could see that her clothes were covered in blood, no doubt splatter from Andersmith's wound.
Jensen gasped from her spot standing next to Matthews near the entrance, the two youngest rookies shell-shocked at the sight of their comrade injured.
Volleyball and Kai began moving forward to help assist Cass with Andersmith since they both had First Aid training, both were silent and serious given the situation.
The environment's silence didn't last. Footsteps behind the group indicated that they were no longer alone in the tavern.
Bitters swore under his breath as he spun around just in time to see the doorway being blocked by both mercenaries and members of the Insurrection, their weapons drawn and pointed into the building.
One of them, a mercenary Bitters vaguely recalled being named Zachary Miller, smirked at the group of young soldiers, "I'd drop any weapons you have and come along quietly," he informed them rather haughtily, "If you don't want this place covered in even more blood, that is."
"I see." Santa shook his head as he listened to Vanessa Kimball's most recent report on the power outages affecting the region, "That is most peculiar."
"Any idea what could be causing them?" Carolina asked, raising a red eyebrow in the alien Artificial Intelligence's direction.
They were in Kimball's office, discussing the matter away from any prying eyes. After all, Carolina was still unsure of the trustworthiness of Hargrove or the mercenaries under Felix and Locus' command.
To top it all off, evidently things had somehow deteriorated once again between Kimball and Doyle. Though, to be honest, Carolina was still uncertain as to what the problem actually was between the two co-leaders of Chorus this time.
Santa flickered as he turned his attention to the cyan-armored former Freelancer, "Unfortunately, I cannot say for certain." He informed her regrettably.
The redhead sighed, glancing over at the dark-skinned woman in the room with a slight shrug of her shoulders, "Well, it was worth a shot."
Kimball frowned and nodded her head in agreement, "Yes, well—"
The genetically engineered woman was cut off, however, by a large booming sound from further away in Chorus. The lights then flickered off as the computers in the office went completely dead.
Before either woman or Santa could react, several armed men entered the room. The office's assailants wore armor that belonged to both the mercenaries and the Insurrectionists, their guns drawn on the two humans inside.
Carolina froze when a familiar figure walked past the armed men. The newcomer was a dark-skinned man and, as he walked into the room with his hands placed calmly behind his back, he glanced at her with more than just passing familiarity in his eyes.
"Ah, Agent Carolina," Aiden Price stated in that same eerily calm voice that she remembered from Project Freelancer, "It's so good to see you again. Though I wish it were under better circumstances."
"Counselor." Her throat was dry, "I'm afraid I can't say the same."
"Yes, well, I suppose that's only understandable." Price inclined his head in the direction of the floating Santa, "We're here for the alien Artificial Intelligence." He informed her, his tone still the same falsely amicable one she remembered from the past, "Please, there's no need to make this difficult."
Carolina clenched her fists at her sides, exchanging a look with Kimball. She was about to respond to Price's remark when the office door opened once again, revealing Locus and Donald Doyle standing there.
Surprisingly, Doyle had his alien relic sword drawn, "We're…we're here to help, ladies!"
The older man was not, evidently, expecting Locus to suddenly stab him from behind. The utter look of shock on his face was horrifying.
"Doyle!" Kimball shouted as he sank to the ground, blood seeping from the wound at his side.
Carolina grabbed Kimball's arm to keep her from running over to Doyle, fearful that any sudden movement on their end might result in a violent reaction.
Damn it. They were too fucking vulnerable here. The Freelancer could hear Church in the back of her mind, telling her to calm down and focus ("Fucking use your head, Carolina!"). Still, the Freelancer cursed inwardly, hating inaction and feeling weak.
The steel and green-armored mercenary grabbed the alien relic from Doyle's suddenly limp hand, the blade deactivating the second it was no longer in contact with the co-leader of Chorus' fingertips. Carolina gritted her teeth as she felt Kimball stiffen at the sight.
"We're moving on to Phase Two." Locus stated without any emotion in his voice whatsoever a second later, stepping over Doyle's limp form to address Price and the group of armed assailants.
Dexter Grif was close to panicking as he dragged Simmons' unconscious body in the direction of the warehouse. Unfortunately, it was slow going due to how unresponsive Simmons was. Not to mention the stiff heaviness of the lanky man's cybernetic limbs.
Fuck it, the orange-armored soldier was the first to admit he was out of shape. But, when the cyborg woke up, Grif was going to give him hell for all of the fat-ass comments.
At least Simmons wasn't dragging Grif's dead weight around that often, although there may have been one or two or ten drunken nights where that may have been the case. The nerdy redhead was the only one keeping count, and Simmons would at least have his freakish cyborg strength to help in those not-so-rare instances.
But, fucking still! Simmons better appreciate all the effort Grif was making currently.
Of course, all this had to happen because of a freaking wide scale power outage. One that just had to occur right as Grif and Simmons were starting a fucking serious conversation!
Grif huffed, all thoughts of bitching pushed aside when he glanced down worriedly at Simmons' pale face. The chubby man knew that whatever had been about to happen before wasn't nearly as important as getting the kiss-ass some help now.
"Simmons?" A familiar voice suddenly called out from close by in the darkness, "Grif?"
Oh, fucking great. Malcolm Hargrove was here too. This night just couldn't get any better. Grif was seriously about to curse his apparently non-existent luck.
The old man hurried over, stumbling a bit in the dark as he surprisingly tried helping Grif by slinging Simmons' human arm across his own shoulders, "I was just heading to the warehouse myself when I saw you two."
"Uh-huh. Great." Grif said in response, although he really wasn't paying too much attention to the old businessman.
Rather, he was focused more on the familiar weight of Simmons draped across his shoulders. Grif's dark eyes searched the cyborg's unconscious and rather pained face in the darkness. He hurried his steps even more with Hargrove's added assistance.
"It's good that you're heading there, as I believe Sarge and Doctor Grey should be standing by." Hargrove continued with effort, "It's best we hurry if we want to help Simmons."
Grif couldn't help but scoff slightly, his grip on Simmons' side tightening. As if he needed to be told that, especially given the fucking situation they were in.
Author's Notes: Things are definitely starting to get more and more intense now! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! :)