A/N: Ugh. Not much of a reason for the delay, apart from Dragon Age binging.

Paradox Effect

Summary: Dying sucked. Dying and being killed by the same teammate again? That sucked even more. Dying and being sent back to Blood Gulch as a girl? That REALLY sucked. Now, Leona Church will have to put up with Tucker's perverted looks, Caboose's stupidity, and worst of all, Tex's laughter…

*Chapter 51*

After successfully bullying Simmons out of her hair and far away from her base, Leona found herself enjoying the peace and quiet that came with having a base all to herself and York. No Caboose pestering her about math problems and no Tucker to try and flirt with her. Life was good.

She sipped at her glass of wine. The brew had aged rather nicely. Sarge must have been keeping it around for a special occasion. No, it wasn't stealing. It was tactically acquiring. There was a difference. One was a crime, the other was obtained through negotiations.

York was lying down on the lounge chair a few feet away. Like her, he too was enjoying the lack of bullshit for once and was taking in his essential dosage of sunlight. Leona could see why more than a few women had their eyes on the man.

She was used to seeing people with incredible form. There was no getting around exercise when ninety percent of their time was spent wearing a heavy suit of armor designed to ward off arms fire and small explosions. It took extreme dedication, like Grif, to get fat while wearing power armor all day. For all his bitching and moaning about work, Tucker was in pretty good shape himself. Tex could squish someone's head like a melon with her thighs alone. But York... goddamn.

Leona looked away hurriedly before Church could give her a snide remark about staring too long.

"Ugh. Please spare me these images. I don't... oh for fucks sake. Why are there so many popups for genital enhancement!?"

'How bad?'

"Fucking bad. Maybe we should jokingly sign someone up for these. For science, of course," Church hastily added. "We wouldn't want anyone to think we're doing anything malicious here."

Blue Team, malicious? Leona feigned being offended.

"Oh shut up. Aren't you worried about Tex not being here?"

No, not really. Tex was a woman of action and there was little she enjoyed more than taking a cannon and making someone else's life hell with it. Also, Leona didn't feel confident in Tucker and Caboose's abilities to remain alive without her constant presence. Better to have someone she could trust to bring their sorry asses back when their stupid quest was all said and done.

"That confident? Do remember this is Tucker and Caboose we're talking about. There's no way in hell this goes smoothly."

He was so negative. Leona set her wine down and rolled over onto her stomach. "Mmm..."

Tan lines first. Worrying about Tweedle Idiot and Tweedle Dumbass second.

Tucker's eyesight wasn't perfect, despite his ability to see much further than anyone else on the team. It was a trait that came about because Leona wouldn't ever let him use the fucking sniper rifle, though it wasn't all bad. His improved vision allowed him to see things that others might miss.

He doubted the poor Red Team soldier patrolling the second floor balcony of the installation spotted the very dangerous, invisible super-soldier standing behind him. 'Not my problem,' he thought, squinting at the structure. It appeared to be a lost alien temple of some kind, with ramps leading up to the top floors and mounted machinegun platforms. The alien grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a slur, glaring at the human occupants. Maybe he just didn't like humans.

It would explain why the fuck Tucker kept waking up to the alien standing over him looking like it just committed a hate crime.

He wasn't going to lie, it was really fucking weird to see Red and Blue soldiers just sitting around talking shit instead of, you know, killing each other and screaming battle cries. 'Wait a minute, if they're not fighting, then they're... working together...'

Tex probably knew that which is why instead of just shooting the Red she was standing behind, she cracked her knuckles.

"Don't worry; I looked into her files. The parts not covered in ink tell me the bitch will do it nice and quiet," Andy reassured.

The loud impact of a fist smashing into a suit of armor echoed throughout the glacial canyon, along with a shrill scream of agony. "OW! WHAT THE FUCK THAT HURT!" A second comically loud punch followed. "OW!"

Tucker groaned.

"Or maybe not..." Andy mumbled.

With her invisibility wearing off, Tex punched her victim again, sending him to the floor. He screamed out for help, but surprisingly no one rushed to his aid. Two soldiers were standing not five feet from him, talking about something, all while Tex was unloading an entire magazine of lockdown paint rounds into the Red soldier. Even though it looked like she was aiming for the torso to take away mobility and keep him glued, for some reason every single round hit him in a spot he probably wasn't going to get much use of in the first place. Tucker sucked in air sympathetically.

"WHY ARE YOU SHOOTING ME!? THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU!? COME ON!"

Tucker let out a whine through gritted teeth, wishing he had hair to tug. "What the fuck!? Are they fucking deaf!?" A bullet from a sniper rifle whizzed over his head and sank into the icy rock behind him. He rolled his eyes and reached for his sword, sighing. "Oh really? That you heard?" Goddammit.

This quest sucked.

"Caboose! Stay with the alien!" Tucker ignited his sword and ran for cover, all while getting shot at by a machine gun turret. Bullets whizzed over his head, smashing into the icy rock behind him and sprinkling him with ice and dust. The gunfire abruptly stopped and he poked his head out to see Tex had blown it up with a rocket launcher.

"Where did she find one of those?" Lucky bitch. Always got the fun toys.

The alien joined him behind the rock, clutching Andy and growling at him. A warbled mixture of honks and blargs were spat at him, and Tucker blinked dumbly.

"What...?"

"Use the key!" Andy shouted.

"Key? What key? And where is Caboose?" Leona was going to brutalize his corpse if he got the dumb idiot killed.

"Hello!" Caboose popped up behind him cheerfully. "I thought we were playing a game so I decided to follow."

He was remarkably unbothered by the bullets whizzing just over his head.

Tucker yanked him down behind cover as a Red sniper tried to take him down. The frustrated yell of "Hacks!" quickly morphed to a scream of terror as he was kicked off the platform by an invisible Freelancer, and Tucker winced. 'Better them than me...'

There was no way anyone else in the galaxy had it this bad.

Simmons' life after being exiled from Red Team was not going as he planned.

He thought attacking Red Base with Blue Team's tank would wake Sarge up and see that Simmons was telling the truth. It hadn't quite worked out like that, seeing as the old man lived on an entirely different plane of existence called Denial and refused to acknowledge any faults in his vision. Taking Grif hostage also hadn't worked out, mainly due to Blue Team's renovations to their base.

That was partially his fault for not doing a thorough inspection of the base beforehand. He accepted that.

He didn't account for Leona and York returning from whatever they were doing early, or Leona being such a colossal bitch. Was she like that all the time or was he just a special case? 'I never thought I'd ever feel bad for the Blues.'

He sure as hell did now.

'Does feeling sympathy for them count as treason?'

Simmons sighed and continued his dejected walk towards Red Base. Better to face the mockery and get it over with now. He could tolerate Grif's snide remarks, if only because the man never put any actual meaning into them.

He reached the base about five minutes later, and on top of the roof standing guard were Grif and Donut. The pink-colored man noticed him first and pointed his rifle at him. "Halt! You're not allowed back here!"

Simmons groaned inwardly. Yep, this was gonna suck. "Donut. I appreciate you taking your new job seriously, but please let me talk to Sarge." The old man wouldn't be happy to see him, but he needed to know that Leona and York were back and no doubt planning something nefarious.

"I don't think so, Blue. We have a rule here, I'm sure you know. No Blues allowed. No exceptions."

Simmons sighed and quickly wiped the paint off his armor, now its natural pure maroon. "Is that better?"

"Dude how the fuck did you change so fast?" Grif asked, amazed.

"Always have been," Simmons sheepishly admitted. "Now can I come in?"

"Only if you can tell me what the secret Red Team password is!" Donut said proudly. "One try only! Get it wrong and we paint the walls with your blood!"

Simmons sighed and Grif facepalmed.

He was so not paid enough for this.

Sarge was, as predicted, not happy to see Simmons back at Red Base. For once though he didn't blame Grif, instead dorecting his ire on Donut. "Donut! I thought I told you to keep this damn traitor away!"

"We did, but he got right through our defenses!" Donut cringed even as he said it.

"You asked me what the password was," Simmons deadpanned. His flat stare turned onto Sarge next. "By the way, asshole, the password is 'Password'."

Sarge cursed.

This was the kind of team that would name a goldfish Goldfish. Their team's collective IQ was about the same as one's. Why did Leona think Grif was the smart one when all he did was sit on his ass and bitch? She had to be on drugs.

'She only said that to get in your head Simmons. Don't listen to her. Attack her base while they're undermanned. That'll show her who's unpopular and stupid!'

"I have vital information on the Blues! Only two of them are back. And where's Wyoming?" He'd thought their resident Freelancer would enjoy this kind of news.

"He's in the gym. Ever since we built one, he's been in it nonstop. I think he's jealous or something."

"When the fuck did you build that? I wasn't gone that long."

"I didn't build shit." Grif snorted, amused that Simmons thought for even a moment he'd lift a finger to engage in manual labor. "Wyoming and Lopez did. He came back from a scouting run red-faced and swearing angrily, built the gym, and I think is trying to kill himself at this point. Donut should be the one to make sure he's okay."

"Aw, why me?" Donut whined.

"Because you let the enemy walk right in our base!" Sarge barked. "Now get to it, Private! And see if he needs any water!"

Donut looked like he wanted to argue, but when no one came to his defense he let out a forlorn sigh and sulked off to find Red Team's resident Freelancer. The door closed behind him and Grif chuckled.

"Holy shit, that actually worked. So Sarge, you wanna get the trial done now real quick while he's gone?"

"T-trial!?" Simmons choked.

"Hehe. Was thinking that was what you were up to. Well played. Great minds think alike." Holy shit. Sarge was actually complimenting Grif for something. The universe was ending. "Simmons! You are being charged with dereliction of duty and associating with the enemy. How do you plead?"

"Guilty," Grif answered, playing as the defense. "Just get it over with so we don't have to hear any more of this shit. I'm still scarred from Donut wearing that wig." He shuddered.

"Sure, I did it. I'll go on cleaning duty for a week." Simmons rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry for doubting your leadership." The sarcasm wasn't missed by Grif, but he knew it was missed by Sarge, which was fine. "But seriously, it's just Leona and York over there. They're probably planning something nefarious right now!"

"Hey, York?"

"Hmm?"

"Where did you find an inflatable swimming pool, and who's water is it hooked up to?"

"Oh that? Don't worry about it. I assure you; we won't be paying a dime for it."

"Nefarious you say?" Sarge growled. "Those dirty bastards! We've been letting infighting distract us from our real enemy! And our enemy is blue! B, L, U, E, blue!"

"You literally tried to attack me. And failed miserably," Simmons deadpanned. "And... wait a minute." He looked around and noticed something was missing. Something important.

"Grif. Where's the inflatable pool?"

"Huh?" Grif looked around and saw it was gone. His cigarette fell pathetically to the floor. "I didn't do anything to it! Sarge, you have cameras in the base, right?"

"Why would I need to spy on my own base? If I wanted to know what was going on I'd leave my room, grab my trusty shotgun, and go for a walk." The old man chuckled, completely oblivious to their despair. "Don't wreck your brain too hard thinking of conspiracy theories. It's quite obvious who the guilty bastards are. Those damn Blues."

"Okay that might be a reach. The Blues aren't responsible for everything that goes wrong at our base." Simmons rolled his eyes. Sarge just wanted war, and if Simmons was being honest with himself, so did he to an extent. It was normal to have a loathing for your enemy.

"Do you seriously think Leona wants to put in unnecessary work? Even with an AI in her head?" Grif added. "Please. I bet you anything the smug bitch is happy to have some goddamn peace and quiet." That was probably true. Therefore, it was in Red Team's best interests to put an end to it immediately. Much shame. Pity there's still a war on, dickhead.

Donut burst into their meeting wailing at the top of his lungs. "Where is my wine!? I paid so much for it!"

"None of us drink wine, dude." Grif made a dramatic show of holding his helmet. "Also, we're like five feet from you. You didn't need to scream. Simmons? You okay?"

"What!?"

"Ow! Dude not so loud!"

"Okay!"

Grif groaned in despair.

"Goddammit..." He looked over at Sarge, who was already beginning to become hard of hearing as is, and sighed. "Can't we just make Wyoming do it? He's a Freelancer. They do anything for money."

"Absolutely not!" Sarge squawked indignantly. "What in Sam hell has gotten into you Grif? That's the dumbest suggestion you could've made! You might as well tell him to shoot us all right now!"

Grif choked. "W-what!? How? Explain, please? Explain your infinite wisdom that the rest of us are so clearly fucking missing!"

"Wyoming's already been caught over there once! The only reason he left was because Leona didn't want to deal with him! Secondly! He's a man fueled by one thing right now, and his goals would surely conflict with him having to attack! He's fallen for the most dangerous trap of them all."

Grif and Simmons stared, waiting for the old man to elaborate.

He did.

"You see sons, there will come a time when you will be spurned by a pretty lady. Instead of filling you with fury, you use it as a motivation to simply do better. Ah you kids wouldn't understand. For either of you to have been stood up, that requires to you have actually talked to a woman. Which I doubt either of you have managed in your lives."

"Hey!" Simmons protested.

"Ah, fair enough." Grif shrugged. "Okay then. So Wyoming's thinking with the wrong head, and right now it's directing him to - " Grif walked over to where Wyoming had his set up, poked his head in, and pulled back. "It's directing him to lift what appears to be the spare transmission for our Jeep. You know what Sarge, you're right. We don't need Wyoming to attack the Blues. The fuck is he going to do, bake them biscuits and give them a cup of tea? We still outnumber them like four to two. That's winnable."

Sure it was, if one conveniently ignored the tank controlled via an AI of some kind and a Freelancer of their own. York was really too nice for the amount of ways he knew how to kill people. "Uh, what about the tan -" He stopped and coughed when Sarge turned to glare at him, "I mean, what are we going to do about York? He's a Freelancer and one who knows how to use a shotgun better than anyone else in the canyon."

Sarge grumbled something that might've been a protest.

Simmons ignored it and met Grif's eyes. "I loathe to ask, but do you have any ideas?"

Grif pulled on his cigarette, exhaled, and flicked some ashes towards his way. "I do."

Simmons, Donut, and Sarge waited.

And waited.

And they waited some more.

Simmons finally broke the silence with an exasperated sigh. "Are you going to share it with us?"

"Rocket launchers," Grif answered seriously.

Simmons choked.

"And uh, how is that supposed to solve our problem?" Sarge asked gruffly.

"If there's no Blue Base, then there's no Blues. Do I seriously have to spell it out for you? Blow them the fuck up."

A viable strategy.

Best part would be they wouldn't even see it coming.

"By God, that may win us this war." Sarge chuckled and slammed his fist on the wall. "Gear up, men! Today, we dine in Hell!"

Simmons was tossed a battle rifle, and he took it with more gusto than he usually did.

Time for a bit of payback. The Red kind.

A/N: Tucker's quest is honestly the most irritating part to write for so far and I don't get why. It's a bit weird.