#tucker ships grimmons and kai wants her brother to get with the dude he’s in love with that’s a given

[hidingoutbackstage]

Do you see my vision?

[itslight-ishred]

Valentine’s Day Dance

Okay, so I’m a couple hours late on this, but I made it through all the distractions to finally bring you my first completed fic in over a year! This is my gift to @mlm-benvolio​ for the RvB Valentine’s Day gift exchange and first time posting one of my works to Tumblr. Enjoy. (will fix formatting if needed) @rvbgiftexchange Ship(s): Grimmons w/background Docnut and Locoboose and mentioned Tuckington 1,800+ words    "Dude, if you don't ask him out, I'm not talking to you ever again."        The lanky red-head gave out a sharp, fake gasp at those words, closing his locker and holding the non-robotic hand to his chest and faking a hurt expression. "You wouldn't. Who else would I talk to?"        "Wouldn't I?" This led to a full two minute stare-down between them both before a taller boy came by and picked up his older brother, squeezing him tight.     "Tucker! I just asked Loco to the Valentine's dance!"        "Okay, if Caboose can ask Loco, you can totally ask Dex," Lavernius gasped out, struggling to get out of his adopted brother's tight grasp. "Seriously, though, what's taking you so long? We all know you like him. Well, except maybe Dex himself."    

   Slinging his bag onto his shoulder, Richard just thought this over a bit as the three headed for the student parking lot. Passing through the commons, they noticed Franklin hugging Frank tight, but not nearly as tight as Michael had done to his brother. The blond noticed them and quickly broke the hug, dragging his boyfriend over to them. Before he could even say a word, Richard stopped him.    "He just asked you out to the dance?"        "Yes!! Has Dex asked you yet? Cause then we could go suit shopping together!" As usual, his younger brother was way too excited about these things than anyone had a right to be, but Franklin had always loved dressing up and going to parties.         "Dude, you don't need to go out and buy a whole suit for this. Not like it's prom," Lavernius told the junior. "Just pick something nice you already have. And can someone please tell Rich here that there's no way Dex would turn him down?"        Franklin's head perked up at that, looking his older brother dead in the eyes. "Rich, if he doesn't say yes, he's an idiot and in denial. He's been over for dinner more this year than the last three combined."        "I rest my case. Now c'mon, I've got a baby who's probably driving my dad up the walls."        Once out in the parking lot, Richard looked around for Dexter's old beater that was in this horrible, bright orange with the doors painted an even brighter yellow. Apparently having sensed his rising anxiety, F.I.L.S.S. started playing music from his relaxation playlist through the headphones around his neck that were connected to his prosthetic arm. "Thanks," he muttered to the AI before speaking up to get his younger brother's attention, giving the keys an underhand toss. "I'm gonna go find Dex. I'll be home in time to make dinner, promise." All of the other teens smiled at him as he jogged off, going up and down the rows to hopefully beat Dexter to his own car.        Thankfully he'd made it just a couple minutes before the shorter senior came over, drinking a soda that he'd gotten from one of the vending machines. "Oh, hey, man. Not goin' home yet?"        "Told Franklin I'd be back to start dinner. Wanted to hang out with you a bit." Dex raised an eyebrow at this but just shrugged, unlocking the car and getting in. It didn't take long for Richard to realize they weren't going to the middle school to pick up Kai. "Uhh. . . ."        "Relax, she's spending the weekend with some friends at a sleepover since our parents are out of town."        "So you're staying home alone? All weekend?"        "Yep."    Somehow this felt like the perfect opportunity to finally suck it up and ask him. No Kai around to spy on them, and nothing embarrassing to try explaining to their adopted parents. So far, so good. When they got to the Grifs' house, both teens kicked off their shoes and put their backpacks by the door, Richard setting up Halo 12 while Dexter went to the kitchen to grab some drinks and some chips. He made sure the red head was getting a thing of carrot juice, while he grabbed another soda for himself. "So, what's up? Normally you give me a heads up before showing up at my car."     "Eh, just didn't wanna hear Franklin talk my ear off about matching suits with Frank or whatever. Also hoping to avoid having Tucker call me to complain how stupid it is that he can't invite Wash to the dance. Pretty likely he'd also complain about Caboose not shutting up about asking Loco out."     "Are those two actually dating or . . . . ?"     "Dunno. But they're definitely going to the dance together." They sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to play a couple practice games of capture the flag before deciding whether or not they wanted to do an online match. "So, uh, are you going with anyone? If at all?"     "Maybe? No one's asked yet, and I'm not sure anyone would really wanna go with me. You going?"     Richard just shrugged before recoiling a bit at a sudden, sharp pain in his arm. "Ow! F.I.L.S.S.!"     "My apologies. I must have hit a wrong nerve trying to move the fingers."     The taller teen glared down at his metallic arm for a second, going back to their game and attempting to continue the conversation. "Been thinking about it. Had sort of an idea who to ask. Besides, Sarge'd want me to go to keep an eye on Franklin anyway."     "Good ol' Sarge."     Feeling the AI in control of his arm in the back of his head and ready to send more shocks up his arm, Richard took a deep breath. "Do you wanna go to the dance? With . . . . me? Maybe? You don't have to, y'know, but if you want, it'd be nice. But you don't have to!"     "Dick?"     "Yeah?"     "Course, dumbass. Who else would I go with?"     About an hour later, the lanky teen found himself back home and in-between on steps in cooking dinner, Franklin bouncing in place as he sat on the counter, watching impatiently. "So?"     "So what?"     "Did you ask him?"     "Did Rich ask who what?" Sarge asked, coming into the kitchen to see what his boys were talking about.     "Richard asked Dexter to the dance this Valentine's Day," F.I.L.S.S. spoke up for the boy, knowing he was too nervous from earlier still to hold any sort of conversation.     "Bout dang time, son. You been fawnin' over him for the last four years now. How late's the dance s'posed ta go?"     "11:30 the latest," the blond teen answered back, their dad just nodding, knowing he could trust them both to not stay out too late.     Later that night, Franklin had texted Lavernius the good news, and the two proceeded to gush over this new development together, the older of the two saying he was afraid they wouldn't ask each other out until well after they graduated in a few months. The next few days were then spent with both of them trying to pick out a classy outfit to the dance, Lavernius saying he'd probably have to take Dexter shopping if the man had any hope of looking decent. So by the time the dance was there, their entire group showed up dressed in black slacks(minus Franklin who was in white with Frank), and they all had their own solid-color button-ups.     Loco and Michael tried splitting their time between the dance floor and eating snacks, while Franklin couldn't sit down from sheer excitement. Richard was too awkward to even attempt dancing, so he was glad to hang back and have some snacks with Dexter, making sure the shorter male didn't get the shirt or pants Lavernius had bought too messy. Speaking of which, he hadn't seen the darker skinned teen since getting into the main hall. This wasn't going to end well. . . .     "So, probably brought this up sooner, but why did you ask me here? I mean, we're not dating or whatever Loco and Caboose are."     "And you call me the dumbass. . . . I kinda thought it'd be obvious? I asked you out to the Valentine's Day dance. Should be pretty self-explanatory."     Dexter nodded a bit, eating a few more bites of his snacks. "True. But I wanna hear you say it."     Now Richard's face was starting to turn a similar shade of red as his hair, if just a shade darker. It wasn't a nearly full-body blush like Wash was known to get from time-to-time, but it did make his freckles blend together a bit. Just as she had last week, F.I.L.S.S. threatened to shock him again if he didn't speak up soon. Her personality had been really weird since Thanksgiving, he'd have to talk to Dr. Church about that.     "I- I like you, okay? I missed you a lot after you had to leave, and then you came back and I thought things'd be like when we were kids again, but it wasn't, and it still isn't, which I think is okay, y'know? We still bicker a lot sometimes, but it's not like when we were little. And you're always there for me when I need it, and you didn't hate me when you found out about me being a boy. Still can't believe you outed me in bio, though. I know, it was an accident. But you're my best friend, and I don't think I would've wanted to ask anyone else to come with me." Taking a deep breath, he started calming down a bit. "Honestly, it was probably a good thing you had to leave cause I think even when we were kids I had a crush on you. And I don't think I could've sorted that out on my own if you were still living with us."     "Huh. Good to know. I like you a lot, too. Thought about you the whole time I was gone. I mean, hard not to, considering you're why I was able to get my skin grafts. So even though you weren't around, you kinda were?" Side-eyeing the other, Dexter noticed the blush had gotten darker "So . . . are we dating now?"    "I think so? If you want to, anyway."     "Cool, guess I can finally do this," the heavier teen said, more of to himself, before leaning over and kissing his now-boyfriend, able to feel the heat radiate off his face from how flushed he was. It was at that moment that a bright flash got their attention, making them look up and see the overhead balcony where one Lavernius Tucker Church stood with his phone out, cheering in triumph.     "Finally! I've waited four years for this!" he cheered before running off to find his younger brother for safety.     "Wha- Tucker, no, I wanna dance with Loco more!" the younger boy tried telling him, as he tried climbing up his back and onto his shoulders. Lavernius just reassured him it'd just be for a little bit, to protect him from Dexter.     "Okay, Tucker's officially the group dumbass now."

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Come On Home: 4/5

After the war, Locus ends up spending his days on Hawaii, where he meets Kai and Grif. Nothing will ever be the same.

Thanks as always to the phenomenal @a-taller-tale​ for the beta! And special thanks to every single person who has given feedback bc you guys are the freaking best.

Grimmons arrives! Chorus arrives! We're almost at the end!

Previous

Also on Ao3

This planet is the fucking worst. Simmons leaves and joins Blue Team again, then Donut tells the rescue ship to leave, Caboose is constantly upset because Church ran off again, and on top of that Wash and Tucker won’t fucking shut up. Grif doesn’t know if they’re flirting or just haven’t slept enough lately, but he also doesn’t really care because they’re getting on his nerves. Blue Team problems. He knows better than to tamper with them.

So when an asshole in orange armor shows up, Grif is almost ready to write the whole thing off as yet another Blue Team misadventure about to start when the guy opens his mouth and Grif is suddenly a kid again.

“Run!” the man yells, and Grif stares. He’s wearing orange, bright orange, orange and charcoal, the same orange as sunglasses on a smug face—

“Excellent work soldiers.”

Grif’s been punched a lot since joining the army. He’s intimately familiar with the feeling of being punched in the chest, of the way the pain lingers, of struggling to breathe.

This is worse. This is so, so many times worse. Because a figure with cloaking like Tex, like the Meta, comes into sight, in a weird shade of green armor, with a helmet that has a familiar marking across the visor, and it’s unmistakable. No one else has a voice like that.

Grif would recognize his asshole big brother anywhere, even in armor, even more than ten years later.

He can’t speak, can’t breathe. He just stares, and then looks at Felix. There’s blood on his leg, where Sam shot him, and he can’t help but feel kind of… proud, or something… that Sam finally got around to ditching that guy, even if he ditched them first.

There’s some fucking posturing, some weird and ominous statements, but Grif can’t really hear them. His blood is pounding in his ears, and every single thing he’s wanted to say, every name he’s ever wanted to call Sam or Felix are trying to spill out over each other, and the result feels like choking.

And then…

Sam is gone, and they’re left with fucking Felix. Felix, who’s injured and just saved Wash… because Sam had just tried to put a bullet through Wash’s head?

His stomach feels gross and wrong, and his head aches just trying to put these pieces together.

He listens to the speech, like the rest of them. Felix calls them the “galaxy’s greatest soldiers”, and Grif has to bite his tongue to stop himself from calling bullshit.

He remembers Felix. He remembers a guy who was willing to feud with a twelve year old girl, who scared his sister so badly that when Grif came home from work, she’d been sitting on the couch holding a knife. Felix is trouble, and Grif doesn’t believe one inch of his story.

“Yeah,” he finally says, after the pitch. “I don’t buy it.”

Felix flinches suddenly, turning to stare at him. Grif doesn’t say anything else, just lets the others reject his offer. And when he tries to slip off to make a call or something, Grif follows him.

“What the fuck are you pulling?” Grif demands.

Felix turns. “So… it is you,” he says, but he’s tense. Ha, guess he hadn’t expected to find Grif here. Good. The guy deserves to be off balance.

“Man, you really pissed Sam off. He wouldn’t let us even kick you out of the house, and now he wants to kill you?”

Felix lets out a nervous laugh. “Uh, Grif, right? Locus he’s—he’s not the guy you knew, okay? He’s gone totally off the deep end.”

“Like I’d believe anything you say about him, you slimy fucker,” Grif says. “What. Happened?”

Suddenly, Felix’s body language shifts. “I’m not telling you shit,” Felix says, and there’s the familiar cocky asshole. The one who not only has all the cards, he’s stacked the deck, so he knows what cards you have. “You’re just some brat he got a soft spot for years ago. You’re not important.” They’re wearing helmets, so Grif can’t see his smile, but he can remember it. “He ran away from you and all of your fucking problems with his tail between his legs, remember? Couldn’t be fucked to stick around.”

So what if Felix is right? That doesn’t mean that he gets to win the conversation. He’s practically bragging. Sam chose him instead of them. But…

“At least he didn’t try to put a bullet in my head when he ran,” Grif says.

Felix laughs. “Yeah, well. Give him time. He doesn’t like reminders that he’s human.”

He leaves, and Grif lets him for now.

“Grif!” Simmons yells, back from the campsite. “Stop napping and come help us!”

Grif takes his eyes off Felix, and heads back towards Simmons, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being watched.

The others are preparing for battle, and Grif’s in the corner screwing with his future cubes when he hears the heavy footsteps behind him. He grabs his gun and swings around, even though a part of him knows exactly what he’s going to see.

“Dexter Grif,” the voice, that old, familiar voice, is almost too quiet to hear.

“The fuck are you doing, Sam?” Grif’s mouth is totally dry, and he grips his gun tightly, even if he’s not pointing it at Sam.

He’s… he’s never seen Sam in armor before. Somehow, in his head, wherever Sam had ended up, he’d be wearing the same goofy print tourist shirts and denim shorts that Kai always bought him and he’d worn without comment or complaint. Or maybe in the cargo pants and white tank top he’d worn the first time they’d met, which he’d put on again whenever he’d leave with Felix.

But in armor, it’s almost like he’s an entirely different person. Grif can’t see his face, can’t see where he’s looking, can’t see the twitches of his mouth and eyebrows that were always so expressive, that Grif had learned to read like a book. In armor, he’s even taller, even wider. For the first time, Grif thinks he can see why Mom had been scared of this guy. Sam looks… dangerous. Dangerous and alien.

Felix’s words echo in his head about Sam not liking reminders that he’s human, and he wonders if this is what he’d meant.

“Locus,” Sam corrects, and his voice was somehow even deeper than normal.

“No,” Grif says. “Fuck. You.” He takes a deep breath. But he’s had a bit more time now, a bit of time to rehearse this, to figure out the exact order of his questions. He’d never thought he’d get this chance, never thought he’d actually be able to say any of these things, but here he is. He’s got a chance to get answers. “What the fuck are you doing here, and why are you trying to kill Felix? And us?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam says, and there’s that weirdly earnest undertone that Grif remembers. He’s gone for fucking years without hearing that voice, without seeing him, but for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all. Sam looks away, and slings the fucking sniper rifle he’s been carrying back over his shoulder, his head tilting downwards. “My orders are to escort your friends to safety.”

“And Felix?” Grif demands. “Dude, I thought he was your friend.”  

Sam isn’t looking at him. “I—he—we had a—disagreement.”

“You said he should be glad you missed his head. Like holy shit Sam. You really took that friends-turned-mortal-enemies thing all the way.” But then Grif remembers that Sam abandoned them, and gets mad again. “Great. So you’re on the planet for a job. Let me guess, it’s super important, and so that’s why you never came home?”

Sam isn’t looking at him, Grif can tell. All that does is make him even more angry. There’s still a box of Sam’s things in the bottom of his closet back home, a box with a razor and those fucking books. The picture of the three of them is back in Blood Gulch. He’d left it with Kai for safe keepings, because he’d still have Simmons at least, unlike her.

“It was for the best.” Sam sounds like he really believes it too, and that just makes Grif even angrier.  

“The best?” Grif can’t fucking believe him. “Oh, fuck you. Kai fucking cried for—”

“Why are you here?” Sam interrupts him. Shame radiates from him and his shoulders are hunched. Good to know Kai crying is still an effective weapon, even now. “I know the deposits have been going through.”

Grif wants to laugh. Of course that’s what he’s focusing on. The money had just kept coming in. Sometimes small amounts, sometimes large. Never any notes or messages attached, just dollar signs. The only clue they’d had that Sam was even alive, out there wherever he was. But it hadn’t mattered. It just meant they didn’t starve, that there was more new clothes, that the house stopped looking like it was going to fall apart around them. “Didn’t go back to school. Got drafted.” Which he hadn’t even realized that Sam had been trying to prevent until he’d gotten the letter. And suddenly everything had fallen into place; his weird focus on school, his few vague mentions of college.

And after… everything, when Grif had started to get nightmares, he thought he might actually understand Sam for the first time in years.

“I… see.”

No, he didn’t. He didn’t get that Grif had kept skipping school even though he didn’t need to out of spite, hoping that Sam would come home just to make him go back. He didn’t see that Kai had followed him into the army, that Kai had fucking volunteered, even though she didn’t have to, because she was all alone and she missed him, and if that wasn’t a statement about how apparently no one in their family had any brains, that was.

“Dex,” Sam says, and there’s something twisted with the way that he says it, as if he can’t quite believe it. He straightens his shoulders suddenly, his posture changing completely and his voice becoming stronger. “You need to convince your friends to come with me. Felix is dangerous. The New Republic—”

“Spare me the fucking speech,” Grif says. “Don’t you guys fucking get it? We don’t care. Call off your guys in the fight, and then Felix will go away too. Just help us get a ship and I’ll be out of your hair and you can do your badass loner thing again.”

Sam seems to be about to respond when suddenly, loud, armored footsteps start to move towards them. “Oh Griiiiiiif,” Felix sings. “Got a present for you! One I’ve been saving for your kid sister, but I bet you’ll do just fine.”

Sam grabs him and starts pushing him back. For a second, Grif thinks he hears fear in his voice. “Run!”

“What, and leave Simmons with him?” Grif tries to twist out of Sam’s grip, but if he’d been strong before, he’s even stronger in armor. “I’m not going anywhere, dumbass, let me go—”

“Then I’m sorry,” Sam says. “This is for your own safety.” He lets Grif go, and for a second Grif thinks that’s the end of it, but then Sam moves. He draws his sniper rifle off his back, and before Grif can move away, the butt of it comes crashing down on his helmet, knocking him out cold.

Grif wakes up, lying on a medical cot. He knows it’s medical because of the smell; it’s like shit straight out of his nightmares. He only ever wakes up in med bays after… after shit goes really far up the creek.

It all comes back at once, and his eyes fly open.

Sam.

Felix.

Simmons.

He sits upright. Just like he thought, he’s in a medical bay, with nobody in sight except Sam, who’s sitting nearby, awkward in his full armor, perched in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that all hospitals seem to have.

“You’re awake.”

“What the fuck, asshole?” Suddenly, he realizes they’re far away from their crash site. “Where are my friends?”

“I… I managed to recover some of them.” Sam looks at his hands instead of Grif, and that’s… that’s not good.

“Some?” He has to bite down on the steady stream of “where’sSimmonswhere’sSimmons” that threatens to burst out. “Who?”

“Your Sergeant,” Sam says. “And Agent Washington.”

“Who else?” Grif says, feeling panic bubbling in his chest.  

“I… we also recovered the robot. He was badly damaged, but it would be possible to repair—”

“Simmons. Did you rescue Simmons?”

“… no.”

Grif swears, clambering to his feet. He’s in full armor, not even tucked it. Sam must have just dumped him on top of it like a dumbass jerk.

“Dex—” Sam gets to his feet, as if planning on making him sit back down.

“I’m not leaving Simmons out there with him. Or Caboose. Or Tucker. Or Donut. Or even Doc!”

“The Federal Army is currently unaware of the location of the Rebel Base,” Sam says, his hands on Grif’s shoulders.

Grif stares at him, the smooth visor with the familiar X, but larger and green than the scar on his face. “Bullshit.”

“It is unlikely we would have allowed them to remain if we did,” Sam sounds testy, almost like Grif is insulting him. “The location of their base is secret.”

“Bullshit! Take off that fucking helmet and look me in the eye and say it to my face.”

Sam hesitates for a moment. But then he takes a step closer, and draws the privacy curtain that surrounds the hospital bed.

He reaches up and removes the helmet slowly, as if scared at what’s going to happen next.

Sam looks old. That’s the first thing that Grif notices. There’s silver in his hair, which is held back in that familiar ponytail style. Instinctively, Grif looks for signs of Kai’s handiwork; braids or twists or flowers, but of course, there’s nothing there. It looks longer than it had been, and there’s traces of a beard on his face.

He looks tired too; there are wrinkles on his forehead and dark circles around hisi eyes. He doesn’t remove the rest of the armor, standing stiffly, almost alien in the bulk of it. His helmet stays in his hands, and he looks ready to put it back on, should someone approach or a loud noise occur.

Grif takes off his own helmet. Sam’s eyes go wide for a moment, surprised, probably, by the patches of Simmons on his face.

Simmons.

Who’s alone with Felix. Okay, maybe not alone, but there without Grif. Anxiety and fear churn his stomach.

“What happened?” Grif demands.

Sam looks away. “I needed to get you out. You were my priority. Felix…” he trails off, and Grif stops himself from shivering at the memory of Felix’s voice in the jungle. “He would have hurt you.”

Grif thinks of Felix and he knows the parts of him that are Simmons’ pale have gone green. “What about my friends?”

Sam can’t meet his eyes. “He has no reason to hurt them. He needs them. But you—”

“What?” Grif feels something bitter building in his chest. He’s relieved, sure, relieved because Sam is probably right, Felix needs the others, because the New Republic needs them. But Grif is exempt from that for some reason? The bitter feeling keeps rising, building. It’s not quite a laugh, not quite a sob, but almost both at the same time. He wants to puke. He wants to hug his brother. “He thinks he can, what? Hurt you with me? C’mon.”

Sam frowns, and Grif gives himself a moment to enjoy how it’s the exact same frown that he used to have whenever he’d find Kai doing some stupid shit. “Yes.”

Grif snorts. “Well. Guess we both know he’s wrong there.”

There’s a twitch, as if Sam wants to reach out, but if it happens, it’s aborted so quickly that Grif thinks he might have imagined it. But he looks like Grif slapped him.

“No,” Sam finally says. “He’s not.”

Grif feels the world grind to a halt.

Sam had left. This has been a fact of his life for years. He’d left, just like everyone else, because he hadn’t cared. Grif hasn’t ever doubted this; it’s a fact of his existence, like that Kai will do dumb shit the second his back is turned, or that Simmons is a fucking nerd, or that the sky is blue. Sure, Sam had sent money, but that was... guilt or something else. Maybe he had cared, but not enough to stay, and what else mattered? Kai had cried when he left. Left, and hadn’t even had the decency to tell them. He’d just… not come home.

But if Felix could... if Sam cares enough to…

When the world starts to move again, Sam is gone. There isn’t even a shimmer in the air.

The curtain parts suddenly, and a woman in white and purple armor bounces in. “Why hello Private Grif! Agent Washington just got out of surgery; I think Locus had to throw your Sergeant in the brig because he kept trying to stab me, but really I think he was just being silly!”

“What?” Grif says, staring at her blankly. “Who are you even? Where’s—” He stops himself from saying Sam’s name. She probably wouldn’t even know who he was talking about.

“I’m Doctor Grey, silly!” She spreads her hands out widely. “Welcome to the Federal Army of Chorus!”

Life with the Feds is fucking awful.

They’re at this weird, snow-covered base in the mountains, and the food is fucking shitty.

Grif is going out of his fucking mind with worry. The Feds have so many fucking rumors about Felix, and Grif can’t help but believe most of them are true. Things are fucking terrible; it’s all a mess, and even if the guys are on Felix’s side…

It’s hard not to imagine.

The Feds also have rumors about Sam though, and it’s just as weird.

Because this is Sam. The guy worked for a greengrocer and let Kai put flowers in his hair. He thought the beach was stupid and refused to sleep in Mom’s room and liked his curry so hot it made his eyes water. Sam, who walked Kai home from school every day, even after Mom kicked him out and who stayed up late with Grif looking through bills. The giant nerd who watched bad movies with him and had nightmares.

But the Feds have rumors, and so that’s how Grif knows there’s also Locus, who’s more machine than man, who breathes like Darth Vader, who’s scarred a thousand times over by the war until his face is ugly beyond human belief. He can teleport and fly and turn invisible. He’s unstable and dangerous, and his paycheck is the only reason he hasn’t murdered the entire Federal Army in their sleep, and his presence is the only thing that stops the Rebels from slaughtering them all.

By unspoken agreement, they don’t talk in front of the others. But calling Sam “Locus” feels wrong. It reminds him of that day, in the kitchen, listening to the way Sam seemed smaller, after Felix left. He’d bounced back, but… just for a little while, he’d seemed more worn down, more fragile, more… broken. Grif doesn’t like that name. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to his brother.

He writes to Kai every day, even though they can’t go through. Tells her all the stupid shit that Sam has done, as well as the other stuff that’s been happening all over the base. Like Sarge blowing up Warthogs or Wash getting Doyle to faint three times in a row.

Grif has his own quarters, for whatever reason, so sometimes Sam stops by, when he’s not on missions. He brings food, whatever he can scrape up. It’s usually better than whatever Grif’s eaten that day, so he never complains.

Sam never stays long, always hovering at the edge of Grif’s room, as if thinking that Grif is about to throw him out. And sometimes, Grif is. The guy left them. He left them alone with Mom, for the whole extra three weeks she’d stayed after Sam had left, and when she’d left, Kai had cried again, but Grif still isn’t sure if she’d been happy or sad to see Mom go.

They’d gone out to the airfield to watch for Sam every day for a week after Mom had left, hoping beyond hopes that maybe now he’d come back. But he never had.

One day, as Sam is preparing to leave after dropping off what appears to be a still-warm container of curry, Grif stops him.

“Take off your helmet and join me, asshole. You brought enough for two.”

Sam hesitates, but he does. Maybe it’s a sign that he missed Grif almost as much as Grif missed him, because apparently Sam never takes his helmet off elsewhere.

Maybe it’s because seeing the faces he makes would totally ruin his air of mystery though, because Sam still has the worst fucking poker face that Grif has ever seen. And just to prove it, Grif trounces him in Poker, Chorus Poker, Blood Gulch Poker, and Go-Fish.

Sam takes his defeats without complaining, but he always looks thoughtful.

It starts to become routine, eating food and playing games, sitting there in silence. Kai was always the talker of the three of them. There had never been a need for them to speak that much, not with her to fill the silence.

It’s not that Grif doesn’t miss her constantly, but right now, with Sam here, it feels even more obvious. Like he’s missing a limb, as well as Simmons and his other friends.

Sam, surprisingly, is the one who starts talking.

“How did you meet Agent Washington?” He asks one day, staring down at the full house that Grif had just smugly revealed. They’re playing for shiny rocks that Grif has been collecting, because he’s eaten all the candy Sam had discovered for them to play for.

“We ruined his plan to kill the Meta,” Grif says automatically, before stopping to stare. “Wait… why do you care?”

“Agent Washington is… peculiar. I do not understand him. I wish to correct this.”

Grif falls over onto his side, laughing.

Well, at least Sam’s taste in men isn’t always as awful as Felix.

In public, they don’t interact much. There’s no reason to; Grif mostly just dicks around, helping Grey in medical or Sarge in the armory or Wash with training. Locus is always off doing his weird dramatic missions or occasionally trying to have conversations with Wash that only ever seem to result in Wash wanting to punch someone.

But apparently people have managed to notice that Locus spends time near Grif’s room, even if they don’t knon the full story.

Ah, the power of military gossip.

“Be careful around him, Grif,” Wash says one day over lunch. “I don’t like how interested he is in you.”

“Dude, you’re the one he follows around,” Grif shoots back. “Think he’s got a boner for the Freelancer.”

Wash glares at him. “Take this seriously Grif, this guy is dangerous.”

“I think his crush on you is absolutely serious.”

The look Wash gives him is completely and utterly offended, which just makes it all the better. If Grif was a nicer brother, he’d probably either try to convince Wash that Sam wasn’t all that bad, or tell Sam that Wash getting flustered is just his normal state of mind, not necessarily a sign of interest.

But Grif isn’t a nice brother, and besides, Sam fucked off to go have a life of mercenary adventure with Felix. Grif is not about to throw Sam as much as a string, let alone a lifeline here.

Occasionally, Sam brings back snippets of information. Rumors of rebel activity, a few sightings of General Kimball or Felix. He sees Tucker, right before Tucker fucking blows up an entire building with people inside.

Jeez, those terrorists work fast on the brainwashing.

But Sam hasn’t seen Simmons.

“I’m certain he’s fine,” Sam says.

“You don’t know,” Grif points out. “You don’t know Simmons, okay? He’s going to be fucking falling apart without Sarge there. And Wash is like, his backup Sarge! He’s not going to have any leader to listen to, and that means he’ll try to be a leader, and the last time he got promoted, he buried Sarge alive!”

Sam tilts his head to one side. “Will… will your absence not cause any difference?”

“Oh, he’s probably fine with that,” Grif says dismissively, pretending he doesn’t care.  “He’s probably just glad I’m not there to steal his socks.”

“I… see.”

Grif doesn’t want to explain to Sam that Simmons leaves too. Joining Blue Team (twice), and always wanting to be as far away from Grif as possible. He doesn’t want to explain that if Simmons had been here instead of him, Sarge and Simmons probably would have been perfectly happy.

Sam doesn’t say anything else, just looks at him for a long, long time.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” Grif says suddenly, because it’s falling into his face again, the way it always does when he needs it trimmed, and the only way to handle that is to braid it or get the scissors.

Sam startles, staring at him like he’s grown a second head or something. Which is dumb, because Sam watched Grif braid Kai’s hair for over a year. Sure, he’s never done it for Sam, but that’s because Kai liked to do it.

“… that would be… nice,” Sam finally says.

Grif isn’t as good at the fancy braids as Kai is, but he gets Sam’s hair into a respectable single braid pretty easily. It’s… nice. Sam seems to relax for the first time since they’ve found each other again, letting Grif slowly work on his hair. And Grif can pretend, just for a little while, that Sam never left. That Kai was just a few rooms away, napping or studying or texting her friends. That they were still home, and things were fine.

When he’s done, Sam gives him one of those rare, real smiles. Grif rolls his eyes. “You’re such a sap,” he says, even though Sam hasn’t said anything.

“You are the only one who would say so,” Sam says. Then he puts his helmet on, and leaves.

A few days pass. Sarge hooks up with Doctor Grey, and the entire base is put off their food when they’re caught making out in the hallway. Wash manages to get into an argument with Lopez, even though he doesn’t speaks Spanish. Sam is gone for those days, off on one of his longer missions, the ones where he always comes back from stressed but with better food.

When he sees Sam again, it’s early in the morning. He’s just back, and Grif is just awake.

“What is it?” Grif says. There’s something wrong with the way Sam is standing just outside of his room. His shoulders are hunched forwards, trying to curl in on themselves, like they always get after a nightmare. He looks… scared. He looks around, but they’re alone. “Sam?”

“Your friends are on their way,” Sam says, but there’s something distant in his voice.

“What?” Grif says. “That’s—holy shit you found them? Are they okay?”

“They’re fine.” He sounds almost automatic, like he’s rehearsed this. “For now.”

Grif stops. “What do you mean?”

Sam bows his head. He’s wearing his helmet, and it’s a weird sight. Locus, the terror of both armies, looking small and scared and reluctant.

He slowly straightens up, inch by inch, until he’s standing at his full height. Somewhere in the back of Grif’s mind, he thinks he should be scared, but he’s not sure he is. When Sam speaks again, his voice is perfectly steady.

“My orders are to kill the Reds and Blues, should they reunite.”

And that’s the last thing Grif hears before the world goes black.

He wakes up on the comfiest fucking bed he’s been on in years. It’s all super soft and downy. He can’t remember the last time he was on a bed like this. It’s the kind of bed that makes him want to sleep forever and ever, and never get up again.

It’s great, until he realizes he has no idea where he is.

The room is small, but there’s a fridge full of food, a comfy chair, and a note taped to the locked door.

This is for your own safety.

I’m sorry.

-S

The line with Control goes dead, and the room fills with a dangerous silence.

“So where is he?” Felix asks. There’s danger, boiling under the surface. Locus understands that now, perhaps better than ever. There had been a quiet glee to Felix when they’d received the orders to dispose of the Reds and Blues.

Locus had protected Dex by taking him to the Federal Army. Felix wants him dead. He knows too much, Felix insisted. He knows their faces, he knows Sam’s name, he might even know more than that. It’s impossible to tell what Dex has pulled together

Once, he had brought Felix into the Grif household. Now, Locus knows the depths of what he and Felix are capable of. He knows better than to allow Felix near anything good, anything kind, and especially anything that Locus cares for that Felix does not. Felix will either want it or want to destroy it, and he’s long since discarded any notion of possessing the Grifs. Dex knows too much. For that alone, Felix would want to kill him. But Locus has been protecting Dex from him, and Felix can’t forgive that.

“Where is he?” Felix says, louder this time. “C’mon, don’t think I didn’t notice he wasn’t there!”

Because Locus had moved him the moment the order had come to kill them.

“He has been taken care of.” Safe, and out of Felix’s reach. Dex may never forgive him for this, but he’s safe, and that’s what matters.

Felix looks at him. He knows, or at least suspects. Locus had hoped the evasion would have worked, but Felix knows him better than anyone.

“We’ve got orders, Locus.”

“I am aware.” Dex will never forgive him. “Simmons, is Simmons okay?”

Locus didn’t hold a gun on Richard Simmons when they’d been standing below him and his men, preparing to execute them. His gun had been on Agent Washington, the greatest threat.

But one of his men had been. And it wasn’t like Dex will care if it’s Locus or his men who kill Simmons. Who Simmons is to Dex, Locus isn’t sure. He can’t get a straight answer out of Dex, and his observations of Simmons have revealed no further answers. He doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Locus can keep Dex safe. He can manage this much. He can protect him from this, from himself and from Felix.

Afterwards…

Locus doesn’t know what will happen next. Chorus will be dead, and with it, Dex’s friends. He will never forgive Locus for this.

And perhaps he’ll be right in that.

Locus has known for a long time now that he does not deserve Dex or Kai’s affection. He’s not meant for that. He is a soldier. His purpose is to follow orders. Nothing more, nothing less. He left them, telling himself it was for the best, and they both fell into the army anyway. Grif has scars he won’t explain; entire skin grafts that don’t even match. His files don’t have the answers, but they do tell Locus about a massacre, on a colony. A massacre of which Grif was the sole survivor.

At least Kai is safe, tucked away in Blood Gulch, a soldier, but one still untried by battle, unscarred by the horrors of war. After this, perhaps Locus can take Dex there. So at least they can be together, even if he’s not welcome.

Perhaps it would have been for the best had he never entered their lives. If not for him, maybe things would have been better.

“You’re hiding him,” Felix says. “You’re fucking hiding him.”

Locus says nothing. Let Felix think what he will.

“You’ve gone soft,” Felix marvels. “Holy shit, you’re…”

“Is there a point to this?”

“What happened to the perfect soldier?” Felix demands. “We’ve got orders, are you seriously going to throw it all away for one snot-nosed brat all grown up?”

Locus turns his back on Felix and goes to fetch his weapons. “We need to get going.”

“I’m going to find him,” Felix says, and there’s something almost unsteady to the way he’s speaking. “Our orders are to kill all of them, remember? I’m going to find him and then I’m going to do what you’re too weak to do—”

Locus moves without thinking, without blinking, without hesitating. He slams Felix up against the wall, hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing tightly.

“I said,” Locus growls, “the situation is handled.” Felix scrabbles at his hand, trying to break his grip. With his other hand, Locus grabs one of his wrists and pins it to the wall, out of reach of his knives. The other hand might be able to do something, but Locus’ reach is long, so he doubts Felix can reach anything fatal. Just in case, he drags Felix off the ground, and he kicks and struggles harder, breathing raggedly.

“What are you doing?” Felix gasps out, thrashing in his grip. “Let go of me, you—”

Locus lets go, and Felix drops to the ground, gasping. “So that’s how it is? Partner?” Felix spits.

“We have other targets to deal with,” Locus says. He feels cold and impassive, staring at Felix on the ground. The last time… it had been that night. The night he’d decided to not come back. Something about this is different. He can’t figure out what, exactly, it is, but things are different.

Felix is glaring at him through the helmet.

For a moment, Locus wonders if Felix is about to attack. But instead he laughs, getting to his feet. “Just remember, I’ve got dibs on Lavernius Tucker.”

“Very well. Get ready to leave.”

Dex will hate him for this, Locus thinks, picking up his sniper rifle as they prepare to move out. But he will be alive, and that is what matters. Locus will protect him.