Shiny Things

Lavernius Tucker’s brain short-circuited as he desperately tried to process what was going on. What was happening that had him so puzzled? Well, an upset Agent Washington was hugging him.

Wash was fucking hugging him.

Aqua’s pilot honestly had no clue what to do. They were currently treading in unfamiliar territory. Tucker felt the full-blooded Strassian’s shaky breath on his neck as easily as he felt the tremors in Washington’s usually very steady arms.

Something was definitely wrong here. Yet, even as alarm bells blared to life in his mind, there was a small, miniscule part of Tucker that felt an odd tingle of joy at the unexpected contact. He tried squashing that part down as he shakily returned the blond’s embrace.

“H—hey, Wash?” Tucker asked cautiously as they continued their awkward hug, “What’s going on?”

The dark-skinned man, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t an idiot. Okay, well, he sort of was one. But, only sometimes. Still, Tucker knew something had to be up given this unusual scenario. Truth be told, he was terrified to find out what it was even as he asked the question out loud. Shit was about to get real. Fast.

Naturally, because things on Trocadero just had to get even crazier, it wasn’t David Washington who spoke next.

“Good question, Tucker. For once.” Tex’s familiar voice cut through the night air, “We were wondering the same thing.”

Tucker felt Washington stiffen at the Veroni’s deadpan tone. He looked behind the steel-and-yellow-armored Freelancer to find four figures standing there, seemingly cautious as they witnessed the scene between Tucker and Washington.

Carolina, Tex, Doc, and…

“Donut?!?” Tucker exclaimed at the sight of his teammate’s wounded shoulder and bloodstained pink armor, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Well,” Donut said as he scratched the back of his helmet awkwardly with his one good hand, “Funny you should ask that, Tucker. You see…”

“I shot him.”

It was Washington who actually explained Donut’s injury, reluctantly pulling away from Tucker’s embrace as he did so. The slightly older man looked as if someone had just kicked a basket of puppies into oncoming traffic.

Of course, given the admission Tucker could understand why. Donut practically was the embodiment of puppies in Elvari form. So, it was probably more accurate to say that Washington looked like he’d just shot a basket of puppies.

“Say what now?” Tucker asked, tone disbelieving even as he felt himself subconsciously take a step back from the former Freelancer just in case.

“Oh, it’s no big deal!” Donut exclaimed in an attempt for joviality which boggled Tucker’s mind given the situation, “I’ll be back to tossing in no time, thanks to Doc!”

“It—it isn’t something you should be taking too lightly, though…” Doc said as he fidgeted slightly next to the dirty blond.

Tucker didn’t doubt that there was a blush forming on the Elvari’s cheeks underneath his purple helmet and glasses. His childhood friend was transparent as fuck, although Donut seemed to be oblivious. Tucker couldn’t decide if Doc was lucky or unlucky to have found someone as clueless as Donut to crush on.

“Oh, Doc! You need to stop being so modest!” Donut told Doc brightly (unlucky, Tucker decided) before turning to Washington, “He really did help, so there’s no need for you to feel bad. Just think of all the unnecessary wrinkles you’re giving yourself!”

“But I shot you!” The former Freelancer replied, flabbergasted. Tucker didn’t need to see his face to guess at the expression. He could actually hear the frown in Washington’s voice when he regarded the wounded Elvari, as if he wasn’t prepared to let go of his own guilt.

“No shit.” Tex growled out as she stepped forward before Donut could try his hand at reassurance once more, “We’ve got that part of the story down pat already.”

Well, Tucker thought glumly, at least someone did. He was still trying to wrap his head about the whole Washington-shooting-Donut thing himself. None of this was making any fucking sense!

Carolina, who had been rather quiet throughout the whole exchange, stepped past the black-armored woman. The redhead held out her arms in what was probably meant to be a pacifying gesture. Of course, since it was coming from Carolina of all people, it sort of still looked like she was about to kick all of their asses instead. The half-Veroni chick was hot, but scary as fuck.

“Wash.” Carolina stated calmly in the kind of voice one might use to coax kittens out of trees, which was all sorts of bizarre and unsettling coming from her since it also still sounded like she’d then throw those kittens out of an airlock, “We just want to know what happened.”

Washington flinched slightly before casting an unsure look towards everyone crowded around him. The blond’s eyes lingered on Tucker, who gave him an encouraging nod since his throat suddenly felt dry.

Washington sighed, his shoulders slumping, “I saw…the Meta.” He finally said at length, “He—he attacked me, and when I responded I ended up…”

The Strassian trailed off then to glance apologetically towards Donut before averting his gaze to the ground.

Washington’s admission seemed to create a whole new issue as Tex and Carolina both stiffened considerably at the mention of whatever the “Meta” was. The women shared a guarded look with each other, eyebrows raised in contemplation. Fucking Freelancer problems, obviously. For the three in their current group not in the know, Washington’s words just resulted in utter confusion.

“Hold up.” Tucker finally got out, “What the fuck is the Meta?”

“Yeah,” Doc said as he nodded his head in agreement with his friend, “I think there are parts of the story that we still need explained.”

Rather quickly too, because there was definitely something weird-as-fuck about this planet. Tucker just wanted to get the hell off of it.

Leonard Church sighed as he stood in front of the doors to Doctor Emily Grey’s clinic, the smell of powerful antiseptics already launching an assault on his nose. For not the first time since this idea came to him, the Veroni questioned the wisdom of what he was about to do.

But, fuck it! Sometimes you just have to wade through bullshit you don’t want to do in order to get results. That was kind of the story of his life, now that he thought about it. Church sighed. That probably wasn’t the right kind of motivational example. His life sort of sucked.

Church could almost see his sister rolling her green eyes at his hesitation, and Tex smirking a little before smacking his ass and telling him to get on with it. Then, dream!Carolina and dream!Tex would fight each other because they can’t even get along in hallucinations.

…Man, he seriously missed those two right about now.

Sighing yet again, Church pressed the button on the terminal right next to the clinic doors. He stepped quickly inside just as they opened, before he regained his sanity and changed his mind.

The inside of the clinic was pristine and spotless with an assortment of empty beds and tables. There were medical tools carefully arranged on shelves. Wherever he looked, all he saw was order and cleanliness.

In a way, the dark-haired man was rather surprised by how neat and organized the space was every time he came here. Church was always under the false impression that Doctor Grey’s setup would be more “mad scientist”-like given the dark-skinned woman’s eccentricities.

That, and she had been hanging out with Sarge quite a bit as of late. The red-armored mech pilot’s workspace most definitely resembled something of an unkempt lair, so Church had unfairly assumed Dr. Grey’s clinic would be the same by association.

“I’ll be right with you!” Grey’s singsong voice interrupted his thoughts as the other Veroni came into view from behind a curtained-off portion of the large clinic area.

In her arms was a large box. She placed the package gently down on a table nearby. Church squinted at an object that was just barely poking out from the top of the box.

“Is that a box full of robot arms?” The cobalt-wearing man couldn’t help asking, although he managed to hide his terror at the image. Mostly.

“Yep!” Grey exclaimed gleefully as she wiped her hands on her knees. Her smile was as blinding as the sun when she nodded in response, “As a matter of fact, they just came in today!”

“Why do you need so fucking many?” Church asked, although he honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer or not given her tendency to give him nightmares.

“Oh, come now! You never know when a box of robot arms will come in handy!” The woman in white-and-purple armor chided cheerily enough, “Preparation is a key component of good medicine!”

“Right.” Church was definitely starting to regret his decision to come here. He wondered if it would be totally obvious if he walked out the doors right now. Backwards and slowly, of course. It wouldn’t be wise for one to leave their back turned towards Doctor Grey. She was always catching people off-guard.

“It’s rare for you to visit when there isn’t some emergency taking place.” Grey noted, dashing all hopes Church had for a quick escape, “Is something wrong?”

All at once, the Veroni was amazed at how quickly she could change from a crazy researcher to a professional. She was definitely the master of catching people off-guard.

Church nodded his head in response to her question, “It’s about…my sleep.” He finally admitted. After all, he was here now. It probably wouldn’t hurt to just get this over with.

“Your sleep?” The purple-lined Veroni asked, a dark eyebrow raised in surprise at his vague remark.

“I don’t fucking sleep well, all right?” Church sighed as he put a hand to his head, “Nightmares and shit.”

Stupid ass Director. Stupid ass Project Freelancer.

“Normally, Tex helps me out when they happen.” Church chose not to elaborate here on how she held him close in the middle of the night after he woke himself up screaming because it was none of Grey’s goddamned business, but he saw the way her eyes lit up all the same at the mention of his on-and-off-and-on-again girlfriend, “But since she’s been away on this fucking mission…”

“Things have been getting steadily worse, is that correct?” Doctor Grey asked, surprisingly gentle.

Church could only nod in response. He hated fucking admitting this type of shit to people. Even himself.

Doctor Grey tapped her finger on a nearby medical exam table, a thoughtful expression clouding over her features. “I can prescribe something to make it easier for you to go to sleep, though that won’t be dealing with the root of the problem.” She informed him at length.

The blue-eyed man relaxed visibly, “That would be great, Doctor Grey.”

She smiled back at him, “You’re welcome.”

As Dr. Grey tapped out the prescription on her datapad, and Church was just starting to think that this trip hadn’t gone too bad after all, she glanced up at him with a hopeful look on her face. “You know, a more permanent solution to your sleeping dilemma would be to let me psycho-analyze you.” She offered with an eager light in her brown eyes.

With that, Church once again regretted his decision to come here.

“...Mierda.” {“…Holy shit.”}

Lopez’s robotic voice coming from the doorway caused a visibly distraught Dexter Grif’s head to lift up marginally from the bloodstain that he was kneeling next to.

“Grif?” Sheila asked as she poked her head around the brown-armored robot, tentatively peering into the room, “There was a commotion earlier. What happened?”

Orange’s pilot opened his mouth to talk, but couldn’t find the right words. His thoughts went to Simmons lying there on the floor, and he grimaced. After all, how did one explain that they had stabbed their own teammate? …Donut would probably send a heartfelt note written in calligraphy with a flower arrangement.

Caboose was next to enter the doorway, “Is that ketchup?” He asked Grif, “Were you eating in bed?”

Yeah, right. Like he could have eaten in bed with Maroon’s pilot as his roommate. Simmons would have just bitched at him a ton because they were “guests” here or some shit. Of course, thinking about the nerdy redhead caused another wave of guilt to go crashing through him.

Lopez and Sheila both looked at the scene before them. Their vision most likely was of a disoriented Grif, a puddle of blood congealing on the floor, and a knife that was lying in-between the other two objects. It no doubt painted a not-so-great picture. After their evidence gathering, Lopez and Sheila looked to each other. Worry was evident in their body language, but they didn’t say anything.

It was actually Caboose who brought up the question that was on all their minds: “Where’s Simon?”

Sheila kept a steady hand on Caboose’s shoulder to keep him from getting too close to the crime scene as Grif shuddered.

Suddenly, a figure in red pushed past the hesitant trio in the open doorway. Sarge promptly moved his head to and fro to get a good grasp on the situation. The Arenian dominated the room as if he owned it, and for a split second the orange-armored soldier could almost understand why Simmons kissed his ass. Then the moment passed and Grif remembered that the old man was crazy as shit.

“What in tarnation happened here?” Sarge questioned as he stood over Grif with a take charge posture, brown eyes flashing in the way of the criminally insane.

Grif flinched slightly, gesturing at the ground helplessly, “S—Simmons. He…I…”

Sarge sighed and reached down to put his hands on Grif’s shoulders. The heavyset man’s babbling instantly stopped at the contact. “Calm down and tell us everything, dirt-bag.” Sarge told him succinctly.

Grif took in a shaky, deep breath. And then another, and another. At length, he was finally able to relay everything that had occurred.

The nightmare. Simmons, trying to wake him from it. The accidental stabbing even though Grif had no fucking recollection of where the knife had come from. Simmons, bleeding out on the floor. Then Price and some of the other colonists taking Maroon’s pilot away for medical treatment.

“But, how did the colonists so quickly gain knowledge about the incident?” Sheila questioned after he was finished, clearly disturbed by Grif’s recollection.

“Especialmente porque deberíamos haber estado más cerca de él.” {“Especially since we should have been closer to it.”}

Judging by his tone of voice just then, there was no doubt that, if Lopez had a face underneath his helmet, he would be frowning.

“Something ain’t right here.” Sarge muttered, more to himself than to anyone else in the room.

Grif didn’t say anything as he was moved onto one of the beds by Caboose and Lopez. He had managed to get himself into a sitting position, but it was obvious that he had done so subconsciously. The tan-skinned human shook his head as he continued staring at the blood, Simmons’ blood, on the floor.

“It’s all my fucking fault.” Grif finally murmured, “Simmons might die because of me and—“

Sarge interrupted his rising panic by raising a hand, “Now, wait just a dang minute.” Warthog’s pilot informed Grif, “There’s nothing I’d rather do than blame all of the universe’s misfortunes on you…”

Force of habit caused Grif to roll his eyes as he interrupted the red-armored man’s tirade: “Gee, thanks, Sarge.”

“…But I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this isn’t one of those things I can blame on your sorry excuse for a soldier self.” Sarge carried on as if Grif hadn’t just spoken.

Grif regarded him, open-mouthed, “What the fuck are you talking about? I fucking stabbed Simmons!”

If the redheaded Strassian died because of him, he’d…

“There’s something off about this here planet.” Sarge stated dramatically, “I can feel it in my bones.”

“¿Estás seguro de que no es sólo artritis?” {“Are you sure it isn’t just arthritis?”}

“You should probably take more calcium.” Caboose intoned seriously.

Sarge patted Grif on the shoulder hard, “So quit lollygagging around here feeling sorry for yourself!” He told the chubby man emphatically, “We have a Strassian to find, and maybe some Charon hide to kick!”

The surprising pep talk was enough to get Grif back up and onto his feet. He nodded his head.

Simmons was going to be fine. He had to be. They were going to find him and get off this creepy-as-fuck planet.

Richard “Dick” Simmons woke with a start. His eyes automatically winced at the bright light that suddenly accosted him from overhead. The Strassian’s body ached. His mind was a garbled mess too, groggy both from pain and having just awakened.

The last thing he remembered had been getting ready to go to sleep himself. That was right about when Grif had started violently thrashing nearby…

But, this was definitely not their shared room on Trocadero. So where was he, and what had happened?

“Ah, I see that you’re awake.” A calm voice said to his right. Definitely not Grif.

Maroon’s pilot turned his head in the voice’s direction to find Aiden Price regarding him with a detached look in his dark eyes. Price’s hands were behind his back, as if he was trying to appear relaxed-yet-contemplative.

“Wha…?” Simmons’ brain was still rather muddled, and he mentally cursed at how inarticulate he was coming across to an associate of Tex’s, Carolina’s, and Washington’s.

“You were gravely injured. Do you not remember?” Price asked him, voice detached.

Simmons remembered a flash of metal in the dark. Then shock and sudden white-hot pain…

Grif.

He had to get back to Grif!

Simmons tried sitting up, but there was a sharp pain in his side as he did so. He gasped, unable to complete the action just then. Something definitely wasn’t right.

Price was by the redhead’s side in an instant, keeping him down on the cold medical table’s surface by resting a hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid you’ve been removed from the others while you heal. As a precautionary measure,” the Counselor informed Simmons, “We’ll have to ask that you stay here with us for the time being.”