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-Seven:
Everything about this situation was beyond fucked up. Simmons was here. Simmons was fucking standing right in front of him again! Only, something was just horribly off.
For starters, the fucking asshole mercenaries and guards were now acting almost borderline deferential to the lanky, freckled nerd now. Though, in the case of Felix at least, the attitude was rather mocking and bemused, in a way that seemed to agitate Simmons more than make him shake in fear. Plus, Simmons wasn't acting like the remorseful, worried prisoner he had been when Hargrove's group had taken him out of his cell earlier, back when the redhead had come back to say a weirdly teary-eyed, way too ominous goodbye.
But it was Simmons' eyes, both his vivid green one and his artificial one, and his facial features that freaked Dexter Grif out the most currently.
As Simmons continued to regard Grif carefully, the orange-armored man noted that the cyborg's hands were unresponsive at his sides instead of nervously twitching. Even more disturbing was that it was all too apparent that there weren't any lingering traces of recognition on Simmons' face at all. There was a slight tinge of regret and awkwardness in his body language, but there wasn't that all too open look Simmons always got whenever he looked at his friends, that odd twinkle in his eyes that happened whenever he and Grif would meet up, that look Grif cherished from the first moment he had seen it all those years back.
Now there was only hesitation and uncertainty in the maroon-wearing man's eyes. Simmons' remark from before started replaying in Grif's mind at a maddening, taunting crescendo when he realized what that might have meant.
"You…" Grif managed to gasp out despite the pain that was digging into his body from the rough way Felix and Locus were currently shoving him into a kneeling position on the metallic ground despite how the sudden ache in his chest was threatening to choke out his very voice, "You're fucking kidding, right? It's me, Simmons!" Grif shouted.
Simmons bit his lower lip at Grif's emphatic declaration, his unsure gaze at long last landing on Grif's imploring one. A bead of sweat trickled annoyingly down from Grif's forehead to the floor, and he inwardly cursed at how goddamn woozy he felt just now because this was so not the time for that.
"I'm Grif, remember? Resident lazy fat-ass to your resident suck-up kiss-ass self." Grif continued trying to get through to the cyborg instead, inner desperation keeping him speaking, "Kai's my little sister, she's here too!"
Simmons' eyes flickered briefly over to the tan-skinned young woman who so resembled Grif in the cell behind them. For once, she was staying eerily silent, brown eyes glued onto her brother and his friend as though pleading internally for Grif's words to register with the nerd. Her hands were pressed against the energy shielding despite its uncomfortable, stinging intensity. Dumb brat. Grif would have to yell at her for that later. The others, normally a far too talkative bunch at annoyingly inappropriate times, were also standing by in their cells tensely silent.
"Everyone who is here too, we're all your fucking friends!"
A doubtful frown made its way back onto Simmons' face at Grif's remark, "That's impossible." He stated rather reluctantly, "I—I wasn't even at Chorus."
"Yes you were, Simmons!" Donut spoke up quite loudly then, desperate himself to get his teammate to recognize that what they were saying was fact, "You don't remember that at all?"
"And we…we were friends even before Chorus too." Caboose stated quietly, sounding utterly bewildered at having to explain so obvious a truth, "Back when Mean Sargent took us all in."
The frown only deepened on the redhead's face, "M—Mean Sargent?" Simmons asked, clearly bewildered.
Holy fuck. Whatever they had done to Simmons was serious if he forgot to ass-kiss even an absentee Sarge.
"Simmons…" Grif began again before trailing off as the two mercenaries' grips on his shoulders tightened painfully in clear warning as he once more shakily tried to break away from them.
"That's quite enough." That asshole Malcolm Hargrove's voice smoothly entered the detention center as he came to a stop right next to Simmons as if trying to piss Grif the fuck off even more than he had before.
The other soldiers currently not holding down an upset heavyset man in orange all straightened up to further attention at their boss' presence, and a startled Simmons quickly tore his bewildered gaze away from Grif to stare at the old man in sheer confusion, "F—Father…" he stated tentatively, obviously addressing Hargrove.
And Grif saw fucking red.
"What the hell did you fucking assholes do to him?" Grif raged at Hargrove, and he was painfully aware of Felix and Locus shoving his body into the ground with a heavy thud to keep him from lunging murderously at their employer.
"Dex!" Kai screamed behind him.
Simmons looked absolutely stricken at what he was witnessing, though Hargrove continued to regard the still struggling Grif rather impassively before speaking: "Your obvious attempts to confuse and manipulate my son due to his disorientation so soon after surgery will keep failing, so perhaps you should stop embarrassing yourself."
Grif stilled somewhat at that bit of information, eyes narrowing in thought. Had they actually performed some kind of operation on the cyborg then? Did they medically do something to make him like this?
That notion made Grif feel sicker than he had felt beforehand. They didn't have the fucking right! Simmons, his Simmons…
"Th—that's what this is?" The redhead in question asked incredulously, throwing a hesitant look between his "father" and Grif, "S—some kind of trick…?"
"Wouldn't put anything past the desperate." Felix sneered down in Grif's direction, his elbow now jammed quite sharply in the square of Grif's back.
"Of course, Richard." Hargrove replied as Grif flinched because he knew how much Simmons had always hated it when people used his first name, "What else could it be?"
A momentary look of uncertainty flashed across Simmons' features at Hargrove's question. His eyes fell back down onto Grif's face, as if hoping to see some evidence plastered there of what the asshole was accusing him of.
He wouldn't find it, of course. As he struggled to keep breathing, Grif looked right back up at Simmons instead, hoping that his eyes could at least convey all of the truths that he had never been able to say to the nerd before in that very second.
"Especially from this one." Hargrove stepped in between the two men to stand over Grif as if he was looking down on dirt, and Grif glared right back up at him much the same, "He and his sister were designed to manipulate, you see." His mouth twisted slightly into a mocking depiction of a smile, "To tempt."
Grif's exceedingly overheated body suddenly went ice-cold at the very obvious and utterly intentional insinuation that Hargrove just let slip. He glanced past the older man and over at a peculiarly blank-faced Simmons, suddenly feeling oddly worried.
Grif had never once felt especially ashamed over what his specific batch had been engineered for. Why would he? It was just another pain-in-the-ass situation in a long line of other pain-in-the-ass situations that he had to deal with in his life. Sure, he had understandably been worried about what it might mean for Kai at first, though she honestly seemed more comfortable and at ease with the whole thing than he had ever felt when she came of age. But, truthfully, Grif had only ever felt defensive about his engineered trait when judgmental assholes brought it up to showcase just how much better they thought they were.
The only time he had ever been remotely close to worried or scared about revealing the truth had been when he had decided to tell the other Reds and Blues about the specifics of his and Kai's actual situation, especially when he finally shared the truth with Simmons. Despite his clear eccentricities and outright lunacy, Sarge had unexpectedly provided them with as close to a home and a good thing as either sibling had ever had before, so he didn't want opinions of the Grif siblings to suddenly change or for them to get kicked out onto the street again for something neither of them had control over.
At the time, he hadn't known just why the nerd's opinion in particular had mattered so much, but he later realized that it had been because he had unknowingly fallen for the annoying kiss-ass.
Actually, Simmons had been way cooler with it than he had thought the overly flustered and socially awkward guy would be. All of the Reds and Blues were, really, but that's what one should expect from a bunch of misfits and weirdoes. Simmons had fixed Grif with a shy smile, a slight tinge of red to his freckled cheeks, remarking that it was really no big deal and that Grif shouldn't have waited so long to tell them since he didn't have to worry about anyone there being an asshole to him or Kai over something like that.
To have to do that all over again with a modified or mind-controlled Simmons who Grif had no idea how he would react to the news? Well, he didn't want that at all. Grif squeezed his dark eyes shut tightly and took in a huge gulp of air into his very much deflated lungs, willing this excruciating moment over and done with.
Footsteps approached Grif. He recognized them as the cyborg's. Simmons was so fucking close now, looming over him in Hargrove's stead. He shuddered at the thought, eyes burning.
"Never seen one of these types before, huh?" Felix sneered overhead in response to Simmons' inquisitive gaze, no doubt just to stab the knife in deeper at how fucked up Simmons not remembering them (him) was, "They are pretty rare, even by genetic engineered standards."
"Shut the fuck up, asshole!" Kai bellowed defensively from her cell, and Grif prayed that they wouldn't turn their attention on to her in response.
Wordlessly, Simmons knelt down in front of Grif, looking keenly at his overly flushed and noticeably clammy features. He bit his lip again before hesitantly reaching out with his flesh and blood hand.
First, his fingers tentatively made contact with Grif's cheek and the chubby man gave a start at the jolt that suddenly coursed through his body at the mere touch. Then, as if emboldened by the reaction and in some kind of trance of his own, Simmons placed his entire palm on Grif's cheek.
That was when Grif's entire body out and out betrayed him. Because it was Simmons who was willingly touching him.
Grif let out a very obvious, needy moan as every part of him once again seemed to burst into flame, only the warmth and heat was something he ached for, needed. He moved his face desperately against Simmons' skin, wanting the touch to linger while craving more. It was everything he needed, that he had always yearned for. And yet…
It also fucking hurt too.
Because even as he looked up with suddenly half-lidded eyes to see a very much blushing Simmons utterly transfixed by the heated expressions no doubt contorting Grif's face at that moment, his own lips parting slightly in response, there was still no trace of familiarity there, no recognition or affection in the gaze staring down at him so fervently.
Grif had to bite down on an outright sob at that realization.
Simmons' surprised, eager face became unreadable as he reluctantly pulled his hand away, the absence of physical contact between the two of them causing Grif's body to ache just as much as his stupid, useless heart currently was.
"Father." He heard the redhead say as he stood up quickly, "What Felix said is true. This particular genetically engineered type was rather rare even when the war was going on."
Hargrove tilted his head slightly in thought, "Your point being what, exactly, Richard?"
Grif looked up then, noting how Simmons was adamantly looking at the ceiling and not at anyone. There was a barely perceptible tremor in his hands as he clenched them tightly at his sides, his face once again taking on a reddish hue all the way down to what was visible of his neck, "I think it would be a scientific waste to not conduct further research while we still have actual," Simmons paused, a slight grimace twisting his mouth momentarily before he continued, "Specimens at our disposal."
Grif felt as though a weight was pressing tightly down against his chest as he looked up at Simmons in disbelief, "Simmons, you can't be fucking serious!" He began, an overwhelming sense of terror and hurt taking hold.
What would that mean exactly for him? For Kai? Simmons ignored him to stubbornly look over at Hargrove, waiting for his response.
"You may certainly be right, depending on how we wish to expand our enterprise." Hargrove sounded almost proud of Simmons' suggestion, and that made Grif angry all over again because it was his fucking fault that Simmons was acting like this. The old man nodded at length, "You have my permission to keep one of them for the time being."
"What the actual fuck?" Grif asked, feeling even sicker than before as he tried futilely to push against the mercenaries overpowering him.
Simmons was still ignoring him completely, "This one is already out of the cell." He gestured towards Grif like one would gesture at a piece of furniture.
Grif was still somewhat floored by the rather dismissive tone, but he weakly felt an odd, sort-of relief flooding through him that thank fuck they hadn't said Kai instead. Because if she was with Washington still, odds were good that the former Freelancer could figure out some sort of escape plan once they were moved to Rat's Nest.
"True enough." There was a definite tinge of smugness to Hargrove's voice at this turn of events, and Grif wanted to punch the bastard repeatedly all over again, "Bring the fat one to the lab."
The guards that Hargrove addressed stepped forward, replacing Felix and Locus' holds with their own. The cells suddenly burst to life with loud protests, but Grif couldn't make out what everyone was saying through the uproar.
His eyes were glued to Simmons' unsettling, emotionless face as he held up a syringe he had gotten from the cart of already taken samples. Silently, the redhead bent down, injecting its contents into Grif's arm. The world was getting fuzzy around the edges far too quickly but Grif felt how Simmons' touch lingered on his arm for a moment, and he didn't feel too bad about leaning up into it as best he could just then, letting his drowsy mind fool him into thinking it was happening under better circumstances even as the intense burning in his eyes said he damn well knew otherwise.
Simmons momentarily froze, as if rather reluctant himself to sever the contact, his eyes catching sight of Grif's own and then he grimaced as if something hurt.
But it was over before Grif could tell if that was just wishful thinking on his part, the redhead's face turning a very out-of-the-norm stony a second later as he turned around, the soldiers hauling Grif limply to his feet as they followed their brainwashed superior out of the cell space.
"Simmons!" Grif distantly heard Kai shouting over the other noise behind him, "Dex!"
It was almost a relief when Grif dozed off, his dreams turning into a mixture of memories of a Simmons who definitely knew him and would always smile back in greeting when they met up after separate patrols or jobs.
"What took you, fat-ass?"
"Hey, come on, you assholes! This kind of fucked up joke is definitely not fucking funny right now!" Kaikaina Grif continued shouting in the wake of Simmons' departure along with Grif.
David Washington watched as she currently banged her fists against the energy shield blocking her from running off after her brother and clearly out-of-sorts friend, not seeming to care at all about the no doubt stinging pain her actions inflicted onto her person.
Hargrove and his pack of goons were currently ignoring the young woman with what was probably a great deal of effort on their part given how loudly she was carrying on even after everyone else in the holding cells had quieted around her.
The old man had his eyes glued to the door that his "son" had only just exited along with his most recent scientific acquisition, no doubt very much pleased by just how well whatever he had done to Simmons had ultimately taken given the redhead's actions.
After all, given how nervous and flustered the Simmons that Washington knew had always felt about physical intimacy, especially in regards to whenever his very obvious feelings for Grif were brought up, the fact that what they had just witnessed had even occurred at all was something of proof of its warped success.
And what exactly was it going to lead to? "Further research" in what way? Given the specifications for Grif and Kai's type of batches, that could mean a whole slew of troubling things…
Junior was still somewhere on this ship too. If Hargrove was capable of doing whatever it was he had done to Simmons, to someone he had at least some level of attachment to and familiarity with, if he was willing to sell each and every last one of them as if they were so many pieces of stolen material he had also pilfered from Chorus and who knew how many other struggling regions, willing to hand over someone as a veritable "plaything" without a second thought, just what was he capable of doing to a small child?
That thought alone, coupled with the sheer wave of panic that Washington was starting to feel once more about their current situation, was nearly enough to have him joining Kai's continued onslaught on the cell door. But he managed to somehow rein himself in, if barely. Instead, he clenched his fists so tightly that he was quite certain he was going to draw blood any second now.
"Has everything been collected?" Hargrove asked a moment later, turning his cold gaze over to Felix and Locus expectantly.
"Tubbo was the last one." Felix told him, patting the genetic samples they had collected from their prisoners on the nearby cart, "Though I guess that was pretty fucking pointless if he'll be sticking around now, huh?" There was a sadistic look in his eyes as he glanced over at Kai specifically to make sure she was listening, "I bet kiddo can figure out all sorts of creative ways to get samples out of him."
The roar that tore itself from Kai's throat at the insinuation behind Felix's words had several of the young woman's friends stepping back. Even some of Hargrove's guards seemed rather off-put by it, pointing their guns quickly in the direction that the growl had come from.
"Kai…" Volleyball began, placing a gentle grip on her shoulder as Kai shuddered violently beneath her touch.
Hargrove remained completely impassive at the emotional display, however, and merely shrugged his shoulders indifferently in response to Felix's ever-widening smirk, "It's a fleeting curiosity and nothing more." He stated rather succinctly, "I have no doubt that Richard will quickly grow tired of it before we even leave Rat's Nest."
Felix didn't seem to really care either way, "Whatever you say." He shrugged indifferently.
Locus, who had remained silent off to the side, spoke up then, "We will be approaching Rat's Nest within the next few hours. Should we start preparing the cargo?" He asked as a matter of fact, pointedly not looking at any of the prisoners around them though Felix cast a bemused and meaningful smirk in their directions as Hargrove shot them a brief, considering look.
"Start with the weapons and other supplies we acquired from Chorus." Hargrove stated at length, "Then prepare this lot for transfer."
The brown-haired mercenary grinned and reached up to pat the back of his much larger cohort, "You're the boss." Felix told Hargrove cheerfully as the smugglers all left the security detention center.
"Goddamn it!" Kai let out in a futile wail one last time, her very much red fists once more colliding violently with the energy shield before she sank down onto her knees on the floor.
Volleyball was quick to move down alongside her, the blonde wordlessly wrapping her arms around the now eerily silent tan-skinned medic-in-training.
"Well," Donut spoke up cautiously just then from his cell, "Things certainly took quite a surprising reach around, huh?"
"¿Crees?" {"You think?"}
Whatever sarcastic comment Lopez had made just then was lost when Jensen, nearly looking to be on the verge of tears herself, bit her lip in worried thoughtfulness, "What…what did they do to Captain Simmons?"
"Yeah," Palomo was quick to agree with his very obvious crush, "It was like he didn't recognize any of us."
"Even Captain Grif!" A horror-stricken Matthews intoned quietly as his sister's grip on his arm tightened in an attempt to be reassuring.
"And that's just beyond fucked up." Bitters readily agreed, his perpetual frown even more pronounced than usual though that was more than understandable given the circumstances.
Washington let out a small sigh when he felt several pairs of eyes turning questioningly to him. He supposed he couldn't blame the others for looking to him for some sort of answer given his history during the war, "I had heard talk of there being tests performed to alter cybernetic brainwaves before," he finally muttered, gray eyes narrowing in painful recollection, "But no one ever dared to attempt it after what happened at Project Freelancer."
"Are you talking about what Church went through before he met me and Freckles?" Caboose, surprisingly, asked rather softly.
Washington shuddered at his own memory of how the aftermath of that incident had played out, "That's right, Caboose."
The blue-wearing younger man frowned and glanced down at the floor, "It took Church quite a long time to get better." Caboose noted sadly, "Poor Simon."
"That's awful!" Donut exclaimed, frowning at the upsetting thought of what had possibly happened to his friend, "Why would Hargrove do something like that?"
There was a loud sniffle emanating from Kai's kneeling form, and she hastily wiped her forearm across her face as she stood up once more with Volleyball's help, an angry glare suffusing her features, "Because he's a fucking asshole, that's why!"
No one could argue with so vehement and true a statement.
Sheila tilted her helmet to the side carefully in thought next to Lopez in their shared cell, "But if that is the case," she spoke up, "Is there a way to reverse it?"
Washington furrowed his brows at the question, "It's no doubt possible. I mean, Epsilon…" he paused when he saw Caboose staring at him, "Church did eventually recover just on his own even." The blond frowned, "But I think we should try to remain focused on ourselves at the moment."
As worried as he was for both Simmons and Grif, as terrified as he was over what Junior could be going through, the former Freelancer knew that losing themselves to fear and despair would ultimately prove self-defeating. They had to stay focused on helping themselves in order to eventually help the others.
Kai, however, swiveled around to face Washington just then, clearly not in the same mindset, "B—but what about the nerd? And Tucker's kid?" She demanded, "What about Dex?"
The younger Grif took a rather large, surprisingly intimidating step into Washington's personal space, and it took all of his willpower to ignore the self-preservation instincts screaming at him to either fight back or take a step backwards himself.
Instead, the former Freelancer looked into the desperate girl's brown eyes and held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Believe me, Kai, we are going to get them back. But we have to prepare for what's in store for us at Rat's Nest first."
"Agent Washington is correct."
Locus' voice cut through the air without preamble, alerting everyone to his returned presence in the holding area. He was regarding the scene he had walked in on rather dispassionately.
Kai spun back around to face him instead, a vicious snarl escaping her throat as she slammed her hands hard against the shielding once more, "Where the fuck are they, asswipe?" She demanded as Volleyball and Bitters proceeded to pull her back, "What are you doing to Dex?"
Locus momentarily seemed to flinch somewhat, though his body language returned to its usual rigidity so quickly that Washington felt he may have been mistaken.
"Oh relax, sweetheart." Felix sauntered back into view as well with his customary smirk, "Knowing what I know about your batch and how those two morons used to interact, I bet it's nothing that he hasn't asked for before."
Kai let out another growl and actually pushed forward so much that Bitters and Volleyball struggled with holding her back.
"Stop that." Locus murmured, but surprisingly, he was glaring entirely in Felix's direction as he spoke with a clear warning in his tone.
"Come on, Locus," Felix let out a long-suffering sigh at his partner ruining his taunting before shrugging his shoulders, "I was just having some fun. Especially since we're going to be saying goodbye soon."
Washington's eyes narrowed as he noticed the detonation remote in the steel and orange mercenary's hand that he knew for a fact Felix would gleefully use the very moment any of them so much as provided him with an ounce of opportunity. More of Hargrove's soldiers entered the space, several carrying shackles used for prisoner transport.
As Locus stepped up to the cell door to open it, his partner's grin only widened, "Can we trust all of you to be on your best behavior during the move?" Felix gloated, "We want to give Rat's Nest a good first impression of you."
With clearly visible effort, Kai managed to calm down, especially once Washington placed a hand on her shoulder as the two reluctantly nodded.
"Excellent." Felix clapped his hands together, not caring at all at how close that action had him to pressing down on the remote he was gripping, "Considering how colorful a bunch you guys are, I think it's pretty safe to say that our prospective buyers are going to have a fucking field day perusing our wares!"
As the name might imply, Rat's Nest was a settlement built amongst the debris and rubble of a city that had, in the earlier days of the pointless fighting between regions, thought to provide its populace some measure of protection by building into the sides of a large cavern.
Ultimately, the effort didn't amount to much and the city was destroyed when opposing invaders managed to block off the limited number of escape routes such a setup left the city with. "Which is always why the best offense is clearly more offense!" Sarge declared hotly the closer they got to their destination, "None of that defense claptrap!"
Those who survived the crushing defeat decided to flee to other regions instead of trying to rebuild, and in turn less model residents started taking over Rat's Nest.
Rat's Nest had a reputation as being a hideout for unsavory activities in the later days of the war, and its population's reputation only grew exponentially in the days following. People who had been making their livelihood on the less scrupulous sides of the constant fighting found that they were no longer welcome to keep going about their usual business in the tentative peace that followed, unless they traveled to Rat's Nest.
All in all, it was the perfect place for an asshole like Malcolm Hargrove to sell off pilfered and stolen tech from regions like Chorus that he had personally helped devastate. The black markets in Rat's Nest were teeming with "don't ask, don't tell" merchandise.
On several occasions, that merchandise involved people too, both the random unfortunates who had simply been somewhere they shouldn't have been at definitely the wrong time and the genetically engineered ones because some people were still assholes in regards to giving them proper rights even after the war was technically over. There was high demand for genetically engineered people in Rat's Nest given that the means to create more of them were starting to disappear at the insistence of more open-minded folks.
Lavernius Tucker felt sick to his stomach at the thought of their captured friends being held in such a place, especially at the thought of Washington and Junior being there.
As a result, he quickly shook his head in response to Doc bringing him a drink of orange juice, "Nah, man, I'm good." Tucker managed to reply with out of habit.
"Are you sure?" Doc looked at the dark-skinned man doubtfully, casting a glance over his shoulder at Andersmith and Doyle both drinking out of the cups he had given them earlier, "It's supposed to help with wound recovery."
Tucker had long since learned to not take all of Doc's medical advice at face value, but he saw the earnest and imploring look in the brown-haired medic's eyes and let out a small sigh. After all, Doc was just trying to do his part to help out too, even though he was probably worried out of his fucking mind over what might be going on with Donut and the others.
"Okay, fine." Tucker relented, grabbing the drink and opting to ignore how Doc's face lit up gratefully at the action.
"An excellent choice, Captain Tucker!" Doctor Grey suddenly chirped up from directly behind him, and Tucker nearly choked to death on his "helpful" beverage, "Staying hydrated out on the field is always important, injuries or not!"
"Can't argue with that!" Sarge stated happily as he joined them, wrapping an arm fondly over the female doctor's shoulders as he did so, "Why, drinking the blood of my enemies always helps keep me going even in the midst of a firefight."
"Um, isn't that technically vampirism?" Doc asked for clarification's sake.
Sarge guffawed, "Son, please. When have I ever avoided the daylight as much as that lazy Grif has?"
"Besides, he's totally bullshitting." Tucker felt the need to point out the obvious, "If you ever see Sarge drinking something red out on the field, it's that strawberry dairy stuff he always go one about."
The older man in red bristled in embarrassed annoyance, "That's on a strictly need to know basis!" Sarge exclaimed loudly, "And you don't need to know!"
"Then you probably shouldn't bring it over by the fucking gallon when you babysit Junior!"
The mention of his son suddenly caused the group to fall silent and Tucker winced as he closed his eyes, "Shit." He murmured under his breath, "I mean, when we find him, you can totally share your flavored dairy stash with him, Sarge." He corrected himself shakily, "Fuck, you know, that's the only way I can get him and Wash to drink any milk now."
Doctor Grey and Sarge shot one another a look at the single parent's obvious discomfort while Doc nervously wrung his hands together. Sarge awkwardly cleared his throat and moved a hand onto the teal-armored man's shoulder, "Son…"
But whatever he was about to say to Tucker was cut off by the transport's descent as it landed smoothly on the ground close by Rat's Nest, but far enough away so as to not be picked up on any overly curious sensors. Tucker started. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't even been aware as to how close they had been to their destination.
A surge of energy raced through him, and he jumped up from his seat—the sudden motion tearing Sarge's hand away, "Fucking finally!" Tucker yelled in anticipation.
They were here in Rat's Nest, and that meant they could get this rescue underway and he could shelve all these awkward emotions for the moment. Thank fuck! Sarge looked just as relieved for probably the very same reason.
Everyone who had been taken by Hargrove were probably here by now. Which meant that he could find Junior and Washington and help everyone get out and kick some ass in the process! He could hardly fucking wait.
Four Seven Niner raised a black eyebrow as she deftly activated the air transport's cloaking mechanism. Both she and Carolina turned back around to regard him in rather scary co-pilot unison, "Yep." She stated slowly, enunciating the "p" with a slight pop, "We're here."
From where he had been sitting next to Tex moments before, Church wasn't nearly so smooth as to not make it obvious that he had been holding her hand in a definitely mushy way, Church stood up along with the black-wearing female. His grip on Freckles tightened considerably, "Huh, and we actually managed that in one fucking piece." Church muttered out loud.
"Are you doubting my skill, Church?" The pilot countered back sweetly but with a definite air of danger around her, "Because you might be back together with Tex now…"
Tex smirked at that, "Haven't decided that one yet."
Church groaned, "Fucking really, Tex?"
The red-haired woman shrugged good-naturedly in response, brown eyes lighting up in mirth at how Church rolled his eyes despite currently smiling himself. Church and Tex were such a weird on-again-off-again-on-again couple.
"And you might be Carolina's little brother…" Niner continued, clearly enjoying the moment.
"Though why she wants to admit to that publicly is anyone's fucking guess." Tucker couldn't help but mock.
"Goddamn it, Tucker!" Church bellowed, clearly agitated by the whole conversation.
Four Seven Niner looked beyond amused by this point as she flat-out told the black-haired man, "There's still no guarantee I'll give you a return flight home."
"Please, you know I'm not suicidal enough to do that." Church told the pilot emphatically a second later, quick to appease his sister's "friend's" wrath, "I just wasn't sure that the transport would hold out with all the sparring going on before."
Oh, right, like the one Tucker had engaged in earlier that may have bit him in the ass because he was sore all over now and definitely not in the good way (bow-chicka-bow-wow). But, considering that Carolina and Tex hadn't been lying about not holding back, his still being up and standing said a fucking lot.
"It would take more than that to take her down." Four Seven Niner stated, glancing over her shoulder at the controls fondly, "Though I am expecting a much bumpier ride on the way back."
"So long as it isn't crash-y." Carolina joked beside her.
The silver-armored woman shot her an appreciative glance at the inside joke between them, "Yeah, bumpy is definitely better than crash-y any day of the week."
Tex made a noise as if she had a slight cough, which was total bullshit because she had never once gotten sick for as long as Tucker knew her, "Hate to break up the obvious flirting going on here…"
"But it would be very prudent of us to form a more concise plan of action now that we have arrived." Santa noted from his spot hovering over Kimball's shoulder. The two of them had been rather chummy together ever since Doyle had slipped away from sparring to have a friendly chitchat with Andersmith over their orange juice.
Tucker raised an eyebrow incredulously, "You mean storming the place isn't a fucking option?" He asked the A.I.
"For once, I agree with the Blue!" Sarge was quick to chime in, "My trigger finger is just itching to go!"
"Doing that would be the quickest way to see me again, dear, though I have mixed feelings on your visit being for completely preventable medical care." Doctor Grey reminded the older man gently, though with the unnerving smile on her face Tucker was hard pressed to say just how "mixed" her feelings on the prospect actually were.
As Sarge grumbled to himself, momentarily deflated by the logic in Grey's remark, Tex fixed Tucker with a knowing smirk, "Only if you really want things to be a whole fuck-ton messier than they have to be." She explained simply.
"In this case," Carolina said, nodding her head in surprising agreement with her former rival's comment, "Infiltration first is probably the best way to go."
"It will certainly be safer for our taken comrades as well." Doyle noted.
"So," Carolina took point then as Tucker definitely couldn't argue with that as much as he just wanted to get shit over with and have everyone back already, "We'll enter Rat's Nest in smaller groups, playing the parts of everyday citizens or rich tourists with a whole lot of disposable income to burn through on the black market."
"Ah, Donut always did talk about how much he loved roleplaying and window shopping." Doc lamented with a sigh.
Andersmith patted the purple-armored medic's shoulder, "We'll find them, sir, and then you can roleplay with him to your heart's content!" He stated encouragingly.
There was an awkward silence following Andersmith's attempt at cheering Doc up, the blush on Doc's face indicating that he probably hadn't yet had the chance to try that out with the pink-armored soldier. Tucker was quick to break it: "Um, I don't know about you guys, but what Doc and Donut do or don't do together in their spare time is their own business and I say that we should totally respect that."
"Fucking really?" Church raised an incredulous eyebrow his friend's way that Tucker was quick to ignore.
"Agreed." Sarge was quick to join in, though after a moment's consideration he cast a rather thoughtful look Doc's way, "But, if either of you have any pointers on how to make story scenarios involving potentially invasive medical procedures to graft machine gun limbs onto willing patients even more enticing than it already is, I'd be all ears."
"I think that would be rather difficult, considering how the science itself is so fascinating already." Doctor Grey told Sarge happily.
Doc's face looked as though it were on fucking fire given the direction this conversation had gone in, especially considering at the moment he seemed to be on a "crushing from afar" stage with Donut so just how much they actually talked about roleplay was probably debatable, while both Doctor Grey and Sarge didn't look nearly as flustered as they should be.
"Fucking hell, Sarge." Church finally said after a moment of horribly awkward and dragged out silence, "I'm honestly worried about your heart now."
"I don't see why you would be." Sarge puffed out his chest proudly, "I'm in excellent health, as any twenty-something should be!"
Church groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Oh, he's perfectly healthy in that regard!" Doctor Grey was quick to assure the cyborg, "We always make sure to run stringent medical scans before attempting new things. Safety first, after all!"
That was so much more than Tucker had ever wanted to know about what went on with their love life. Fucking ever.
"Still," Church frowned, as the idea of showing actual concern over anyone else for even a moment tended to make him wholly uncomfortable, "Be sure to down some aspirin at least."
"Aw, it's sweet that you care, Church." Tex was quick to taunt him for the obvious embarrassment he had just put himself through.
"Shut up, bitch." He muttered, face incredibly red.
"And remember to rehydrate too." Doc advised, apparently recovering from his earlier embarrassment enough to try and dispense what was probably very much unneeded medical advice once more given that one portion of the couple in question was Doctor Emily Grey.
"When we figure out where everyone is being held," Carolina continued on like the stalwart professional she was, cheeks only slightly pink at the unexpected revelations this strategy meeting had brought up, "We'll make our next move."
Tucker frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, "The waiting part sucks though." He couldn't help but mutter.
Kimball shot him a sympathetic glance, "I know, but we have to approach this as cautiously as we can if we want things to go smoothly and have everyone remain as safe as possible." She reminded the teal-wearing man.
And Tucker, because he wanted Junior and Washington and all of the other assholes back and definitely in one piece when that happened, acquiesced with a curt nod, "Still sucks though."
Kimball smiled in agreement and patted his shoulder as Carolina frowned contemplatively. Her green eyes swept over everyone clustered around her now on the transport, "All right," she said at length, a definite air of determination hardening her features now that they were so close to getting things underway, "Who is going out there with whom?"
Which, of course, led to Kimball and Doyle pretending to be, of all things, a newly wedded couple. Vanessa Kimball grit her teeth as she remembered the none-too-subtle amused looks and quips thrown their way after all of the groups and roles had been doled out.
Santa had suddenly decided that monitoring things from the air transport along with Four Seven Niner was the best use of his extremely advanced ancient alien A.I. capabilities. While he was no doubt correct on that front from a logical stance, Kimball very much missed having something along the lines of a third party buffer between herself and her fellow co-leader. Especially since, for some inexplicable and downright infuriating reason, Doyle seemed to be absolutely enjoying himself in comparison to her trudging.
"I say," the other general spoke up right on cue as his wide eyes took in the altogether dusty stalls of traveling merchants and the more meticulously kept permanent business structures on the street they were currently traversing through, "It's been far too long since I was last able to peruse wares like this."
"Really?" Kimball arched an eyebrow at the sheer giddiness present in Doyle's tone.
"Well, we are usually a tad more preoccupied with running Chorus than actually taking the chance to thoroughly live in it."
Kimball frowned in thought, unable to argue with his point for once. She had been aware of how steadily things had been improving in the city before this whole disaster with Charon had occurred, but had rarely ever seen or experienced such things herself. She lived more through Palomo and the others' comments about life in Chorus. Distantly, she wondered if Bones and Cass were able to still check by that cat colony her young housemate had set up with Washington on the outskirts of the city. She hoped so. Even her friendly visits with Cass were usually at hours when hardly anyone was up and about, even for barhopping.
"Actually experiencing things happening in the city every once in a while would certainly prove most beneficial in our efforts to keep Chorus running smoothly." Doyle remarked, casting a wary glance her way as if he was trying to gauge her reaction to his continued efforts at conversing.
He was caught off-guard at the sight of her nodding her head slightly in agreement, "You might just be right about that." Kimball muttered.
Of course, they would have to repair all the recent damage first, but the idea of actually seeing those improvements firsthand was something she could very well use as motivation. No matter what was thrown at it, Chorus would always survive and rebuild. The dark-skinned woman had always admired that about the region and city that she had been created in.
Glancing sideways towards Doyle, she suspected hat he might feel the same way. It was no doubt why they both stubbornly refused to step down as Chorus' joint leaders, despite how often they made one another mad.
She nearly smiled at the thought despite herself, but was completely thrown for a loop when a rather red-faced Doyle suddenly intertwined their arms together, pulling the pair closer together as they walked side-by-side.
"Wh—what are you doing?" Kimball spluttered out in a both indignant and altogether flustered whisper.
Doyle shyly averted his gaze, and she nearly stuck her leg out to trip him as she impatiently waited for him to explain his actions. For some reason, it never even crossed her mind to simply tear her arm away.
"W—well, we are, ahem, supposed to be newlyweds, yes?" Doyle finally choked out rather nervously, "We need to convincingly play the part."
Kimball felt her own face heating up at the reminder of their ridiculous drama assignment and she rolled her eyes to try and cover up her reaction, "Right. As if any tourists in their right minds would come to Rat's Nest for their honeymoon."
A smugglers' den dealing in stolen goods, illegal weapons trading, and human trafficking was certainly not a spot she would ever consider very romantic.
"You'd be surprised." Doyle hummed beside her, glancing around their surroundings with keen interest, "Perhaps we are soldiers of fortune who found one another out on the battlefield, not welcome anywhere else." He smiled slightly and actually winked at his next speculation as to the identities of their characters, "Or we could just be tourists who wish to live dangerously."
"Stupidly, more like." She shot back, frowning, "I've been to several places like this one, running supplies to and fro during the war. I know what goes on behind the scenes here."
"Oh?" Doyle looked at her curiously and it occurred to Kimball that she hadn't shared too many details of her life as a genetically engineered supply runner with anyone.
And for good reason. Only Palomo knew some of the grittier pieces of information, and that was definitely not by choice. The younger man had simply been there at some of the later missions and happened to be one of the only other supply runners left standing when all was said and done.
"Enough to know that I want to ensure that Chorus never becomes something like this." Kimball finally said, "To hopefully give people who had to live in regions like this a chance to finally leave them behind if they want."
It was a pipe dream of sorts, she knew, and far too naïve to be completely possible. But she suspected that her experiences as a genetically engineered human traversing the frontlines, seeing the way things worked in the world during the heyday of fighting and desiring hope still despite that, she suspected that was why she had been nominated to be a leader of Chorus in the first place once the war had ended.
"We find ourselves astonishingly in agreement yet again." Doyle noted quietly a moment afterwards, "I have always wished for Chorus to be something of a safe haven too."
She smirked to cover up the odd sense of contentment she felt at his not arguing with her about that specific dream at least, "If we keep agreeing on things so readily, there's a very good chance that the world might explode." Kimball joked.
He let out a small burst of laughter, "And neither of us would certainly want that! Ah, another agreement!"
It was bizarre, interacting like this compared to their routine just a few weeks ago. But Kimball didn't particularly hate it.
No, as they walked along and she watched Doyle pleasantly greet everyone they met regardless of how many would probably rob him blind and leave him dead out in a field somewhere if they didn't happen to be trying to follow the mutually agreed upon guidelines set up to prevent trouble within town, she felt herself growing more in awe over how easy he made it all look.
Despite the nasty unpleasantness at its very core, Rat's Nest was a city like any other if viewed from just the surface. The goods people tried selling you here were no doubt acquired by very questionable and dubious means, but it was considered a courtesy not to inquire about trifling details like that. Rules of trade, the sort-of etiquette required of groups of people living together to keep utter chaos from preventing anything getting done were expected to be followed unless someone really pushed another's hand. In that case though, the matter was considered solved by whoever was left standing in the end.
Doyle excelled at social interactions, downright thrived on playing the role of diplomat. Kimball always struggled in that regard, and it showed. She frowned again when she felt questioning eyes upon them. If anyone was messing up their chances of passing themselves off as a married couple looking for cheap supplies, it was her.
That thought frustrated her to no end, especially since they were putting on this whole stupid charade to find and save their kidnapped people! Kimball became increasingly upset as she mulled things over, an emotion that was apparently not lost on Doyle.
The blond-haired man leaned into her ever so slightly, looking as though he was doing so to quietly gain her attention in regards to two pistols on display off to his side, "You are doing better than you think, Vanessa." He assured her, quickly carrying on before she could react to his using her first name, "Just act like you always do when we are around each other."
Kimball forgot her surprise at Doyle suddenly being so much more familiar with her to raise an eyebrow in mild amusement at his advice instead, "We're usually trying to keep ourselves from killing one another."
Doyle responded back in kind with his own joking observation, "You would be surprised at how often that description could be applied to married couples." He coughed awkwardly and looked away again, "Besides, I, erm, never truly felt that way in regards to our dealings actually, blood boiling as they tend to be."
Kimball blinked as a heavy, wholly awkward silence settled over them with that admission. She was keenly aware of her heart thudding loudly in her chest, of their actual closeness just then. Of how maybe, just maybe, what Doyle had told her she could also say back to him the more carefully she thought about it.
She took in a deep breath of air and asked instead: "How's your injury?"
A thoroughly blushing Doyle quickly leapt on the abrupt change of topic rather gratefully, "It's more or less completely healed." He informed her, "Emily is a gifted doctor and, well, that Doc fellow certainly tries if nothing else."
Kimball opened her mouth to say more when she heard footsteps slowly approach them. She turned her head in their direction quickly, narrowing her eyes as she did so. She was fairly certain that the man currently approaching them with a rather easy gait but far too sharp of eyes was the same person that she had felt assessing them earlier.
"Are you two looking for any sort of specific merchandise?" The stranger drawled out, "I can very much guarantee you won't find the good stuff here."
Kimball felt Doyle stiffen uncomfortably next to her, but this time she knew the hand to play. She allowed her body language to stiffen noticeably as well, to become sharper, more dangerous and alert. An earlier comment from Doyle sprang to mind, and she knew she could embrace this particular role. She had dealings with this type of black market merchant before, only this time she wasn't just handing off goods while still trembling from weaving through a wave of bullets.
For her friends, for Chorus, she'd have to be a potential client. Casually, she let the arm that wasn't entwined with Doyle's drop to her hip. Her weapon was visible there, along with a rather substantial bag of credits.
"We're looking for something rather unconventional, if you know where we should be looking." Kimball stated slowly, smirking, "I've been keeping up my job as a supply runner, you see, and I'm afraid that I'm in rather desperate need of some traveling companions who aren't nearly as fragile as my husband here while out on the field."
Doyle let out an indignant squawk, and she turned her thin smile over to him, "Now, honey, you are absolutely brilliant when it comes to handling missions," Kimball explained, "But you know that you wouldn't last a day here without me."
There was more vehement sputtering from Doyle's end, which turned to stunned silence when Kimball reached over and quickly placed a placating kiss to the gold-trimmed man's cheek. He turned bright red by the time Kimball cast an expectant stare back over at the merchant.
The man looked at the pair appraisingly, an amused glint in his eyes for a second as he muttered, "Lucky bastard." under his breath.
"You don't know the half of it." Doyle was quick to rather smugly shoot back, casting a glance of sheer awe Kimball's way as the dealer finally waved for the two to follow him.
They entered an alleyway with stone steps leading down to the next level of the city, even more in disrepair than the one above it. Their guide led them to yet another store on this level that had obviously been painstakingly restored once its potential use as a lucrative place of business had evidently been established.
There were rows upon rows of weapons and armor pieces on display once they stepped inside. How many, she wondered, had been stripped from Chorus or other regions like it by greedy profiteers like Hargrove? Their guide deftly marched them past all of that stock and brought them to a sealed backroom that he had to enter a security code he was quite careful to not let either of them glimpse even a fraction of to gain access to.
The backroom of the store was windowless, long and narrow, with lighting panels that burst to sharp, blinding life the second they stepped into the domain.
On display on the various platforms and large shelving throughout the room were the mechanical husks of machines, vehicles, and other devices that Kimball could easily suspect given the level of security and clearance required to enter the space contained countless V.I.s.
The man looked over at Kimball expectantly as she and Doyle took in the sight, an eager gleam piercing his eyes now at what seemed like the very near chance he had of making a decent sale here, "Do any of the models here seem to have the type of durability you're looking for?" He asked her eagerly.
"Vanessa!" Doyle muttered her first name for a second time, immediately drawing her attention over to what had so clearly caught his eye.
Slumped together on a nearby platform were the armored, currently deactivated humanoid forms of both Sheila and Lopez. Kimball swallowed thickly at the sight, doing her best to keep her expression neutral so as to not tip their hand as she reached down for her credits to get the haggling started.
"Yes, these two might just do the trick."
Author's Notes: I REGRET NOTHING! XD Certainly not implying that Sarge and Doctor Grey are into kinky medical, cybernetic roleplay. Nope. XD
I do feel so horrible for continuing to put Simmons and Grif through the ringer in this story though, and things will undoubtedly still be very emotional between them in the next chapter. But, I plan on throwing in some hopeful, heartfelt moments for everyone as soon as I can! :)
Also, I'm horribly amused that this chapter ends on a Doyle and Kimball interaction and it turns out the next update I will be posting for Prequel for Losers? just so happens to be their prequel story. I honestly didn't even realize that was the case until I started typing that part out. :D
The next couple of updates I will be doing are for my WIPs to get back to writing them regularly once more, though following those I might just have one or two surprises because my mind wanders too much and I'm very clearly out of my mind and cannot ignore any new ideas that pop into my head. XD
Thank you so, so much for your continued patience with my ramblings and for sticking with me! I hope that you liked this update! :D