Shiny Things

Damn it.  This whole thing was getting more and more complicated by the second.  Worst rescue mission ever.  Of all time.

“Your son?”  David Washington repeated, as if the entire universe had frozen over with this new detail.

“Yeah.  My kid.” The dark skinned man nodded his head at the question, “Junior.”

Wash frowned at the affirmation.  By his estimate, they didn’t have much time.  It wouldn’t be long before Charon troops came rushing through this particular section of the Sangheili space station in pursuit of the mech pilot and his Strassian rescuer.

“My name’s Tucker, by the way.” The recently made aforementioned mech pilot seemed to be rambling now, most likely due to nerves.

“Lavernius Tucker.  I know who you are.” Washington nodded his head in the direction they had just come from, “Charon was sending out a file on you that we happened to intercept.”

That particular file hadn’t, however, mentioned that Tucker was a father.  But, it had been brief on any details at all now that the Freelancer thought back on it.  There was no doubt that any of Charon’s follow up reports on Tucker would be more thorough.

“That means they’re likely to have my personnel records on hand, right?” Tucker reasoned, “So the odds of them finding out about Junior are pretty high.”

The half-Strassian was right about that.  Wash sighed, “It’s more than likely, yes.”

“Like fuck I’m not taking him with me then.” With that emphatic statement, it seemed as if Tucker’s voice was just daring Wash to try to argue with him.

Of course, Washington wasn’t going to.  As much as he would like nothing more than to get back to the transport as soon as possible, it wouldn’t sit right with him to allow a child to become a potential target of Charon’s.  If possible, he even wanted to help reunite the small family.

“Of course you are.” The blond informed a surprised Tucker, who had evidently been expecting some kind of argument from his rescuer, “I’ll do my best to help.”

“Shit, dude.  Really?” Tucker was regarding him skeptically, as if the idea of someone doing something nice for him was a foreign concept to the Sangheili native.

The Strassian smiled mirthlessly, “Though, in return, if you could come and work for Chorus afterwards that would be ideal.”

“Chorus, huh?” Tucker smirked at the not-so-subtle deal he was being offered, “It’s not like I have much choice in the matter given who’s on my tail in a not-fun-way right now, huh?”

“There’s always a choice, Tucker—“

Whatever Wash was going to say got cut off by the sound of lasers cutting through metal behind them.  Frown deepening, he narrowed his gray eyes and turned his head towards the noise.  He reached for his knife, inwardly pissed that he had forgotten to grab a gun as well.

“Fuck!” Tucker grabbed Wash’s arm and pulled him through a side-corridor before the older man could really register what the hell was going on.

*****

They continued moving with an even stronger sense of purpose through the space station.  It was quite evident to Washington that Tucker knew exactly where it was that he was going, which he supposed made sense considering the younger man was an actual resident of Sangheili.

Figured he’d somehow fail at a mission that he had no doubt Carolina could have navigated with her eyes closed.  Washington cursed his own inconsistency with being out on the field.  It seemed that the Freelancer’s perusing of the space station’s blueprints hadn’t entirely prepared him for actually experiencing the twisty turns of the corridors for himself.

“Where are we headed?” Wash asked his companion, not knowing their destination himself and wanting to remain in the loop just in case alternative routes had to be planned.  The blond’s mind was in “recalculating mode” and thinking of different options for quick escapes as they currently made their way along Sangheili.

“To my friend’s, Doc’s, place.” Tucker explained, looking carefully in front of him and weaving through the side-corridors of the station whenever he saw fit, “That’s where Junior is.”

Washington nodded and, while a part of him knew not to pry, he couldn’t help himself from inquiring when he glanced at the half Strassian ahead of him: “You’re the one who birthed him, correct?”

Tucker cast a backwards look towards Washington, the blue-tinged freckles on his face almost looking illuminated against his dark skin, “Do I even want to know how the fuck you knew that?”

Wash sighed, face reddening slightly, “Your scent has matured.” He finally stated lamely.

“My scent?  Now you’re smelling me, dude?” Tucker grinned, tilting his head slightly to the side before a flustered Wash could react to his teasing, “You’re talking about that weird pheromone shit, right?”

Washington nodded, “When a Strassian gives birth, their pheromones change.”

“I think I read that somewhere once.” Tucker recalled, shrugging nonchalantly, “My dad was the Strassian.  He took off after I was born, so I had to learn a lot about that side of my heritage from books and the networks.  But, they can only teach you so much, you know?”

Ah, so that explained some things.  Despite the efforts of groups like Charon, the mixing of different alien species wasn’t particularly uncommon, especially on space stations like Sangheili.  Wash had suspected that Tucker was only half-Strassian due to his appearance.  His Strassian features had seemed somewhat muted since they were mixed with human ones as well.

“Ended up accidentally pregnant with Junior a few years ago.” Tucker continued to explain, “The other guy was human.  Got himself killed in an accident before I could even tell him.”

“I’m…sorry?” Even though he knew it sounded horribly awkward, there wasn’t much else that Wash could think to say in light of the admission.  Sometimes he honestly wished he was better at consoling others.

“Don’t be.” Tucker told the older Strassian emphatically, “Junior’s one of the best damn things to ever happen to me.”

Tucker was so sincere and proud-sounding when he said that.  Wash couldn’t help but be touched by the sentiment a bit himself.

“So, Mister Badass from Chorus,” Tucker suddenly turned the tables on him, “What’s your story?”

“My what?” Wash regarded him incredulously, “Also, my name is Washington.”

“Come on, dude, fair is fair.” Tucker rolled his dark eyes, “I told you some of my past!  Now it’s your turn.”

“I—!“

But, Wash was interrupted by the sight of several Charon soldiers when they turned the corner.  The armed group of humans were surrounding a doorway where an Elvari male dressed in purple had his hands protectively wrapped around the shoulders of a young boy.  The first thing that really registered to Wash was that the child looked an awful lot like Tucker.

From the looks of things, it seemed as if the Charon soldiers were getting ready to put the two into “protective” custody.  Wash inwardly groaned, realizing that Tucker was correct in assuming that Charon would find out about his son.  The blond had been hoping that they could have reached Tucker’s son and friend before Charon ever targeted them.  Naturally, nothing was ever that easy or simple for him.

“Junior!  Doc!” Tucker exclaimed before Wash could begin formulating a plan.

The dark skinned man raced forward, knocking one of the Charon personnel onto the ground and out cold.  Wash swore, reaching for his weapon.  Luckily, he was good enough with a knife against ill-trained lackey soldiers like this group that he managed to pick off the others before they could even react.  When it was over, the Freelancer turned to angrily glare at Tucker, about to lecture on the importance of battle tactics and legitimate strategy.

“Dad!” Junior exclaimed as he raced forward and hugged his father in the exact same moment, making Wash refrain from saying anything about proper fight conduct.

“Hey, kiddo.  I missed you!” Tucker returned the embrace before looking the child up and down worriedly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Junior replied before fearfully glancing at the unconscious bodies currently littering the area around them.

“Well, so much for my plan of inviting them in for a calming drink of tea!” The brown-haired Elvari remarked, voice oddly cheerful despite what could have nearly happened to him.

“Trust me, Doc, I don’t think that would have cut it this time.” Tucker told his friend, rolling his eyes at Elvari’s commentary.

“It’s a bit too late to say for certain now.” Doc agreed, nodding his bespectacled head, “Though they certainly seemed like they could have benefitted from some calming techniques.”

Wash shook his head, disbelief beginning to pour into his body at the inane conversation taking place in a hallway filled with unconscious enemy combatants.  He stepped forward, “Tucker, we need to get moving before more of them come this way.” He reminded him, urgency in his voice.

“Right.” Tucker turned to his son and friend, “Come on, guys.  We need to get the fuck out of here, and fast.”

It seemed as if the urgency of the situation had finally entered Doc’s mind as he nodded his head in agreement to Tucker’s comment.  The four were off not a second later, Washington hoping they could make it back to the ship without too many more delays or obstacles.

*****

They were lost.  That much was painfully obvious as they made their way through the myriad branching corridors and hallways of the space station.  Everything looked the same too, and that was causing Richard “Dick” Simmons to begin to panic.

He could only vaguely recall the Sangheili blueprints that they had gotten ahold of minutes before the rescue mission had started, which did little to ease his growing sense of dread.

Adding to his anxiety was the fact that they they’d had to remove their armored uniforms yet again to avoid detection—leaving Simmons in the ill-fitting shirt and pants he had gotten from Grif back in Rat’s Nest.  He felt grossly unprotected in an area crawling with Charon goons.

“This way!” Grif told the Strassian as he grabbed the redhead’s bare left arm, pointing down a seemingly identical hallway to all of the others they had just passed.

“What?” Simmons blinked green eyes, unsure of how the chubbier man had reached that deduction, “Why?”

Maybe there had been some clue that Simmons had missed?  He did tend to overlook things when panic settled in.  The pale skinned man curiously looked around for the evidence that Grif must have spotted.

“Looks the shortest.” Grif reasoned lazily, giving a half-assed shrug.

Simmons’ brain nearly broke at the admission, “That’s your only reason for choosing that particular corridor?” He couldn’t help but remark incredulously.

“It seemed as logical as anything else.” Grif shrugged once more, tone indicating he clearly didn’t give a fuck about any other “logical” reasons.

“How?” Simmons was fairly certain his voice was taking on a shrill quality, but he was too flabbergasted to really care at the moment.

They were going to be caught and killed here all because Grif was a lazy fat-ass!  Right before he started a rant of truly epic proportions, something down the corridor caught Simmons’ eye.  He paused, deciding the rant could wait on the off chance that they might actually make it out of this situation alive.

The Strassian walked further into the corridor.  There was a sign there that looked remarkably similar to one they had passed on their way to the rescue mission earlier, back when they had been making their way to the Sangheili security cell with Washington.

“This way, then.” Simmons said quietly, now pulling Grif as he pointed towards the familiar sign.

“Told you so.” Grif said smugly, smirking.

“Sh—shut up, fat-ass!” Simmons hated how his face heated up just then.

*****

They had been walking for about twenty minutes, but Simmons was now fairly certain that they were at least headed in the right direction.  He was almost starting to feel relieved, only for panic to resurface at full force with the sound of heavy footfalls behind them.  The fast-moving pace stopped both mech pilots in their tracks.

Simmons glanced backwards, catching sight of the steel armor that signified Charon personnel, and not just residents of the station, heading towards their direction.  Damn!  He had to think fast.  There was no way they could outrun their pursuers in this situation.

Simmons glanced over at Grif.  He was surprised to find the human panicking somewhat himself over their current predicament given how laidback he usually tried to appear.  Looking at Grif’s face, an idea sprang to mind that resulted in the redhead suddenly grabbing the chubbier man’s arm and pulling him into a side-corridor.

Before Grif could fully react to the Strassian’s actions, Simmons leaned forward and kissed him right on the lips, no questions asked.

Simmons’ brain nearly short-circuited when Grif, after a moment of going stock still in shock, decided to return the gesture—a lot more aggressively and desperately than Simmons would have expected for the necessary act to be believed.

The Charon soldiers looked in on the display of public affection, a noise of disgust ripping from one of their throats.

“Just another human betraying his own kind.  Fucking disgusting.” He muttered loudly to the others, who all nodded their heads in agreement before turning and walking away.

Simmons waited a few seconds, and not just because his knees had gone weak thanks to Grif sucking at his neck, before glancing over at the now empty corridor.

“They’re…they’re gone!” His voice was throatier than usual as he noted his observance to Grif, “Looks like the plan worked.”

Thankfully, Grif stopped planting kisses along Simmons’ freckled neck just then—his eyes looking oddly heavy and filled with some type of emotion that Simmons couldn’t quite identify.

“Plan?” The tan skinned man murmured (when did his voice get so husky?  Simmons couldn’t help but wonder), “What plan?”

Simmons stared at Grif incredulously, not sure where to even start, “This—this!” He gesticulated to their only being a few mere centimeters apart.

The fact that Grif’s hands had somehow found their way to his hips wasn’t lost on him either.  If possible, his face turned even redder as it took Grif a really long time to finally, and rather lazily, pull away from him.

“Oh?  Yeah, that was a pretty good plan.  Brilliant, even.” Grif was smirking, “You should definitely come up with more ones like it.”

Simmons wasn’t sure if he was about to faint from embarrassment, but he managed to somehow keep his stupidly weak legs just then from buckling.

“Any—anyways!  Let’s get moving.” The redhead called over his shoulder, now in even more of a hurry than before as his heart thudded loudly in his ears.

*****

Lavernius Tucker was grateful that Washington had come when he did.  No, wait.  Scratch that.  He was beyond grateful.  Thanks to the older Strassian’s actions, not only was he away from Charon, but Junior and Doc were now safe too.

Which meant a deal was a deal and all of that shit.  He would definitely help the really hot guy and his friends.  That is, if Washington and his Chorus friends could even get the mech back from Charon in the first place.

He was thinking just that as they rounded the corner to the docking bay where Washington’s ship was evidently located.  Upon doing so, their traveling party of four nearly stumbled right into the two guys that had helped him escape earlier.

“Simmons.” Washington nodded to the redheaded Strassian first, then to the chubby human standing next to him, “Grif.  Glad to see you both made it back in one piece.”

“Uh—yeah.” Simmons’ face looked to be about as red as a tomato, “Of course we did, sir!”

Tucker exchanged a curious look with Washington at the redhead’s embarrassed reaction, especially when he saw Simmons glance awkwardly at-and-then-quickly-away from Grif.  Hmm.  Interesting!

Naturally, he had to add in his own two cents for good measure because he was awesome like that, “Oh, cool.  It’s the married couple from before!”

“W—what?” If possible, the lanky Simmons looked even more likely to faint at Tucker’s commentary.

It definitely seemed as though something must have happened between the two given the sudden redness crossing over Grif’s tanned features as well at the dark-skinned man’s comment, though Grif only half-heartedly raised a middle finger in Tucker’s direction.

Washington raised a blond eyebrow inquisitively at Simmons in what Tucker figured must be some weird Strassian culture mentor thing, but the younger Strassian suddenly seemed to find the floor fascinating.

Tucker grinned, flashing a “See, we have nothing to worry about!” look of reassurance over to Junior and Doc at the more or less friendly exchange.  These guys were going to be entertaining to tease, if nothing else.

Someone cleared their throat behind all of them.  Tucker turned to see a goateed, black-haired man in cobalt blue looking positively pissed off at the entire universe standing right in front of the docking bay’s doors.

The Veroni’s gauntleted fingers rested over crossed arms as his blue eyes narrowed in annoyance: “It took you assholes long enough to show up!”