Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Chapter One: Traffic Delay

Dexter Grif was used to not getting to work on time, so he honestly didn't give a shit that he was late. Yeah, he was apathetic as fuck. Being a one-man draft stuck in a pointless turf war sort of did that to someone. The chubby man liked to think that kind of an attitude made him a maverick, although his friend Tucker would argue it just made him an ass.

The initial reason Grif had for running late was that he had just finished shooting off a message to his little sister, Kai, back home on the island of Blood Gulch. Blood Gulch was remote as fuck and nothing ever really happened there, but it was practically a tropical paradise compared to the more forested areas of Valhalla where he was stationed now. In his message to Kai, he mentioned how things in Valhalla still sucked, but he had also downplayed it to keep her from getting too suspicious. Mostly because the younger Grif sibling sort of did even dumber-than-usual things when worried.

After sending the message, Grif had happened to notice the time. Putting the tablet down, he let out a long-suffering sigh, knowing that he better get moving. He'd still be late by anyone else's standard, but at least he'd be on time regarding his very own "Grif's schedule" and wasn't that all that mattered? Probably not to his boss, but it was important to him, damn it!

The funny thing about the town of Valhalla (outpost, region…whatever the fuck people were calling it these days) was that it was comprised entirely of a military outpost. They didn't really even have barracks for anyone. It was just assigned housing. Naturally, Grif's happened to be in the shittiest part of town and was as far from the base proper as could be.

The orange-armored soldier chugged down his poorly-tasting instant coffee as he headed out the door, already disappointed that he didn't have time to stop by the one coffee house on his way to work.

There was a lengthy traffic jam going from way past his street onwards, and Grif couldn't help but absentmindedly wonder what the hold-up was as he glanced idly towards the transports lined up along the street. People moved to and fro, faster on their feet than the stalled cars.

One could almost be lulled into thinking that Valhalla was a nice, peaceful kind of town. In many respects it was, at least on the surface. But, pry a bit further below…

Deep in thought, Grif only barely noticed that there was a redheaded guy standing right outside the coffee house, cups of steaming hot beverages in a tray in his hands. The nerd seemed lost in thought and, yeah, okay. Grif wasn't paying all that much attention either, so one could pretty much predict what happened next. Grif slammed right into the maroon-wearing man, knocking coffee all over his sweater-vest shirt combo in the process.

"Fuck!" The man, who was around Grif's age or maybe even a few years younger, swore and clenched his teeth as the lingering drops of liquid no doubt burned his skin.

Grif actually almost, almost felt bad about the situation. Until his brain oh-so-helpfully reminded him that he was still late and he couldn't help but swear himself. He threw more than enough credits at the stranger to pay for new drinks before suggesting rather helpfully in his own opinion, "Maybe next time you shouldn't stand in the middle of the sidewalk like a fucking zombie, dumbass."

Grif quickly left before the bewildered redhead could splutter out some form of an indignant response. This was only the third month into his new, forced-upon him assignment. He really hoped this wasn't a sign of what was to come.

Agent Carolina tapped her foot impatiently in the cavernous, empty training hall, "They're late." She noted quietly, arms crossing over her chest.

From where he was standing next to her, Agent David Washington couldn't help but nod his blond head in agreement, "This isn't going to bode well for the negotiations, is it?" He couldn't help asking his leader.

Carolina shook her head, green eyes narrowed as she regarded the still closed doors to the hall, "I wasn't referring to the Armonians."

The slightly younger man caught onto her meaning well enough as he quirked an eyebrow in response, "You mean the Reds and Blues?"

Though the two teams were considered soldiers like practically everyone else who lived in Valhalla, they were primarily assigned to the Science and Administrative Sectors. As far as Washington could gather, punctuality wasn't the strongest suit of either group, who were little more than laughingstocks to the rest of Valhalla.

He had even heard rumors that some of them had never even seen combat, and given their personalities that wasn't particularly shocking. They were of such little interest to him that he honestly hadn't bothered to read their files in great detail, though he had a feeling the woman next to him had them all memorized down to every insignificant detail. That was just how Carolina operated.

Carolina gave a curt nod in reply, "As well as our mercenary friends." She shook her head at that comment, "Though it's only par the course for at least one of them to make a dramatic entrance."

Washington frowned, "Do you mean Tex or Felix?" He asked, crinkling his gray eyes. Carolina glanced towards his direction wordlessly and he couldn't help but laugh a little sheepishly, "…Never mind."

As they stood there in silence for a few more minutes, another thought crossed Washington's mind. He glanced over at the redhaired woman debating on if he should even ask it. At length, he took the plunge, "Isn't your brother on the Blue Team?" He inquired, "Church?"

Carolina let out a tired sigh and nodded, "We haven't exactly had a chance to really talk in a while though, due to the war."

Right. That was because up until a few days ago, both Washington and Carolina were still being sent out on missions all over Chorus, despite how (or perhaps because) they were the only two Freelancers left. Washington couldn't help but nod his head in understanding, "I guess it's a good thing then that the peace talks are underway now, huh?"

"I suppose so." The redhead frowned, "Though I wonder if we'll have much common ground to work with."

Before Washington could ask her what the cyan-armored woman had meant by that, the doors to the training hall opened. The three mercenaries that they had been waiting for entered, the one clad in steel and orange had his arms spread out wide in greeting. Washington shot Carolina a pointed look at Felix's obvious posturing.

"You can hold your applause, I've finally arrived!" Felix said into the relatively empty space before he paused and looked around, "Where the fuck is everyone?"

"They're late." Carolina informed the mercenary matter-of-factly, annoyance evident in her tone.

Felix rolled his eyes, "Well, obviously."

The tallest of the mercenaries, Locus, straightened up even further to his full towering height, "There was an accident reported. A ground transport delayed traffic." He noted.

The blonde with them, the female mercenary who formally went by the name Agent Texas, smirked at Felix for having not paid attention to such a simple fact.

"Oh, don't even fucking start with me." Felix was quick to respond to the gesture with an upraised middle finger, much to Tex's growing amusement.

Tex turned to Washington and Carolina, nodding her head in way of greeting to her former teammates, "Nice to see you both again," she stated, "Especially you, Carolina."

Carolina huffed irritably as she moved towards where the exercise and training equipment was kept, "I'm going to get things ready."

Washington was somewhat taken aback by the redhead's abruptness, but Felix and Locus merely exchanged a quick glance while Tex looked on as if she had expected such a reaction.

"Hey, Tex," Felix asked, raising a brown eyebrow disinterestedly as he did so, "Is she still that upset that you left Freelancer?"

"I guess so." Tex shrugged her shoulders, a thoughtful smirk crossing over her face, "Though my having started to date her brother again could have something to do with it too."

Felix whistled, though he quickly made a face as his brown eyes swept around the empty room once more. "Damn it." He muttered under his breath, stomping the edge of his foot onto the ground for good measure, "These assholes better show up soon. I fucking hate waiting."

The Administrative Sciences Studies Building, not so affectionately referred to as the ASS Building, was a poorly maintained, shambling thing that rose a measly two stories up. It had long since been forgotten in many respects. Perhaps that was to be expected when the military was more focused on fighting an ongoing, fought-the-same-way-it-always-has-been war.

The type of things that the ASS Building did was of little importance in the grand scheme of things. So, most of the people who were assigned to its various levels were those who didn't really fit into any of the more "traditional" army roles.

Truthfully, that served Lavernius Tucker just fine. He had a kid, for fuck's sake. He'd rather have a desk job any day of the week. Even if said desk job was usually boring as all fuck, and it left him scar-less. Chicks dug scars, but they didn't seem to be too turned on by his self-inflicted gunshot wound. Who knew that shooting yourself in the foot wasn't going to pick up chicks? If someone had told him that, he may have reconsidered it!

Currently, Tucker was very diligently "working" by shooting scrap paper airplanes at the back of his co-worker's head.

The dark-haired man named Leonard Church groaned at the continued annoyance and finally swatted away one of Tucker's brilliantly constructed masterpieces, "Quit it, Tucker! I swear if Caboose comes in and finds this fucking thing fun, I'll throw you both out the goddamned window."

Tucker harrumphed under his breath at the threat, "We're only two floors up, asshole." He reminded Church, but then he remembered why he had been throwing the paper airplanes in the first place and groaned as he spun in his seat, "I'm fucking bored! Can't we go to the shooting range and blow shit up?"

They might not act like it most of the time, but they were technically soldiers. Which meant that they had access to all of the training stuff too. Sure, he might have used the training stuff to shoot his own foot in an attempt to pick up chicks, but that didn't fucking mean he was totally irresponsible!

Church rolled his eyes before glaring back at his computer screen as if the data on it had somehow personally insulted him, "Maybe you wouldn't be so bored if you actually, you know, did your fucking work?" He suggested in his typical-oh-so-delicate Church fashion.

Tucker groaned and spun around again, "But data entry is pointless now that we're having peace talks."

A brown-haired woman a few desks away looked up, "I wouldn't say that, Tucker. It's still quite fascinating to me."

Tucker frowned in her direction, "Of course you'd say that, Sheila. You're an android."

Blue Team's mechanical assistant simply smiled and shook her head as if the dark-skinned man simply wasn't seeing the larger picture.

"Why the fuck are you even complaining?" Church demanded then, spinning around himself to fix his friend with a level stare, "You're only working until Junior gets out of school."

The other man shook his head, "Babysitter's picking him up today because we have that stupid meeting."

Church frowned, "What meeting?"

There was a commotion at the door to their office, and Michael J. Caboose suddenly skipped inside. His Virtual Intelligence gun, Freckles, shot a blast of confetti into the air to signal the younger man's arrival. "The one that your scary-but-not-so-scary sister set up!" Caboose exclaimed happily in response to Church's question, "Don't you remember, Church?"

"Are you sure that's today?" Church asked, frowning even more.

Tucker and Caboose both nodded, though Tucker was quick to point out, "Relax though. It isn't until this afternoon."

"Actually," Sheila spoke up just then, "The meeting was arranged for this morning. I just assumed you were skipping it again."

The three men looked at one another, then glanced at the digital clock display on the wall.

"Fuck." Church muttered under his breath.

Tucker let out another exasperated sigh: "I changed my mind. I'd rather be bored out of my fucking skull than deal with this shit. Your sister might be hot, but she's scary as fuck when we're late."

Vanessa Kimball glanced around the crowded military transport, noting that the other representatives of the Armonian delegation were getting rather agitated by the current traffic delay. Not that she could blame them.

Lieutenants Matthews and John Elizabeth Andersmith were trying to calm their growing nerves by discussing familial topics under their breaths. The tan girl wearing armor with maroon trim, Katie Jensen, was fidgeting in her seat. Jensen's friend Volleyball, Kimball had never been able to get the blonde to reveal her real name, placed a steadying hand on the other girl's shoulder. Lieutenant Antoine Bitters was desperately trying to ignore Lieutenant Charles Palomo's attempts at conversation, though that only seemed to make the teal-trimmed young man try harder.

It wasn't as though Kimball could blame them for being anxious. She was too, all things considered, despite being several years older than all of them. Well, save for perhaps Andersmith, who had joined the military of Armonia rather late.

For a brief moment, the dark-haired woman allowed herself to once again wonder why she was being sent with inexperienced rookies. Kimball couldn't help wondering about the reasoning behind this particular assignment. Most of those picked were young, and all were incredibly inexperienced. Even Kimball's own rank had been due more to missteps and the tragedies of her predecessors than on her own abilities.

…It was almost as if the Armonians didn't expect the peace talks to work out. At all. Thinking along those lines simply made her all the more depressed, as if their leaders hadn't expected the process to go well and so had picked their more "expendable" soldiers to send into enemy territory.

She wanted, no, needed, them to go well. The fighting on the planet of Chorus had been nonstop and the region of Armonia in particular needed this peace to last. Desperately so, even.

She saw Palomo being pushed by a fed-up Bitters out of the corner of her eye, and then the other lieutenants raced forward to stop the altercation from escalating. Just as she was about to command them all to stop, the transport driver glanced over at her apologetically.

"I'm sorry about the delay, ma'am." He informed her with a slight tilt of his head, "Hopefully we'll be moving soon."

The dark-skinned woman could only nod her head in quiet response, hoping inwardly that this traffic delay wouldn't be a sign of things to come.

Richard "Dick" Simmons brought his second tray of coffee over to the Red Team's side of the second floor of the ASS Building without any further problems. Though he still wanted to curse out the orange-wearing jackass who had made him even later than he already was in the first place. Not to mention the jerk had nearly scalded him to boot! Granted, Simmons shouldn't have let himself get caught with his head in the clouds, but still! There was such a thing as common courtesy, damn it!

His delay didn't seem to have any impact on his exuberantly cheerful co-worker, Franklin Delano Donut, who took the tray from Simmons with a pleasant enough "Thanks a bunch, Simmons!" But then his brown eyes widened when he looked at Simmons' state of dress and he couldn't help but tsk slightly, "Though I do hope you know how much coffee brown clashes with maroon." Donut informed him, "Especially on someone with as pale a complexion as you."

Simmons couldn't help spluttering, "It—it wasn't by choice, Donut!"

Donut grinned and patted his arm sympathetically after setting the tray down on a desk's surface, "Don't you worry, Simmons. I'm an expert when it comes to stain removal!"

Simmons sighed, "Have the deliveries been made to Doc and Doctor Grey yet?" He asked, hoping for something—anything, really—to do to get away from his way-too-cheery-right-now co-worker's way.

A dirty blond nod was his response, "Not to worry, it's all been taken care of! Donut always gets head!"

"Don't you mean "ahead"?" The redhead inquired hopefully.

The younger man in pink hummed, "That too." Before Simmons could groan in exasperation, Donut continued, "Besides, we have that meeting to get ready for."

Simmons frowned in thought, "What meeting?"

There was a bustle of activity behind them, and what almost sounded like an electronic sigh as their resident android, Lopez, came into view.

"El que he estado tratando de contarte durante semanas." {"The one I've been trying to tell you all about for weeks now."}

Sarge, their supervisor, picked that time to enter the office. Thankfully, the red-armored soldier came in before Donut could try to "interpret" for Lopez.

"Hey, Sarge!" Donut greeted the older veteran amicably, "Look what Simmons brought us!"

He held up the tray of coffee, and Sarge nodded his head gratefully. Simmons felt a swell of pride blooming in his chest at the simple acknowledgement, as if getting coffee for everyone deserved a pat on the back.

"Are you talking about the meeting with the Armonian folks, Donut?" Sarge asked, "The one that's supposed to help speed along the peace talks or whatever claptrap it is they're giving for it?"

Right. Simmons vaguely remembered his father talking about such an event. …His father hadn't been a big fan of it, as he recalled. But, Simmons had completely overlooked their team's involvement in the matter. After all, the ASS Building very rarely got involved in anything. They were often forgotten.

"The one and the same, Sarge!" Donut chimed in, a thoughtful look on his youthful face, "It's not starting until later though, right?"

"... Ya estamos jodidamente tarde!" {"…We're already fucking late!"}

The pink-wearing soldier frowned, casting a glance over at Lopez then, "What do you mean, Lopez?"

But, before Lopez could even finish his sigh, Doctor Emily Grey and Frank "Doc" DuFresne were standing in the still open doorway. The dark-skinned woman raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sight of the four of them, "I thought you'd be at the meeting by now."

Sarge looked equally surprised by her statement, "Why in Sam Hill would we be at a meeting that doesn't start until later?"

The two medical personnel exchanged a glance with one another before Doc spoke up rather tentatively-yet-somehow-still-cheerfully, "We're already late to it due to a patient emergency. So, doesn't that mean you're late too?"

Doctor Grey sighed and shook her head, "Sometimes, no matter what you do, some people just don't have the common courtesy to stop bleeding all over your instruments."

"Well, look at that!" Sarge shook his head in bewilderment as all of Red Team turned to face Lopez, "How'd you get the time so wrong, Lopez?"

Lopez sighed yet again and shook his robotic head.

"Son todos idiotas." {"You're all idiots."}

Simmons couldn't help but let out a sigh himself as he wondered how the rest of the day would go.

Dexter Grif really wasn't liking all of this back-and-forth that he kept having to do on account of his job. When he had been assigned as a bodyguard for a guy who seemed to mostly be at his desk all day, he figured maybe it would end up being a cushy gig after all. But, then the man had decided that Grif would make a better errand boy for him than anything else.

Did Grif fucking look like a guy who wanted to be walking all over town? It was the worst judgement call ever. Obviously, his boss didn't know how to read people. At all.

Thanks to that huge-ass delay in traffic, his boss had an opportunity to send his "favorite" errand boy on some kind of a spying mission to the scheduled meeting between the Armonians, the Freelancers, and some other random soldiers at the base.

…Fucking perfect.

The chubby man made his way to the training hall as leisurely and slowly as he could, noting that there was hardly anyone inside the large space as he approached the doors. Grif could make out maybe five people in total from where he was standing. He frowned, wondering if maybe he had gotten the time or location wrong…

Suddenly the ground was practically shaking beneath him as a stampede of feet ran past him in a practical dust cloud, cries of "Move it, Red!" and "Suck it, ya dirty Blue!" heard coming from the crowd. Grif was pushed hard against the wall and nearly toppled over, seeing stars in his vision.

"Are you all right?" A voice asked him from close by, and he turned around to see an oddly familiar-looking redhead staring at him with mild concern plastered over his freckled features.

Said redhead's face fell when he seemed to recognize Grif, and Grif couldn't help but swear when he saw the coffee stains on the guy's shirt.

…Fucking perfect indeed.

Author's Notes: This was written for the Dreamwidth comm whole_new_world, using the "Traffic Delay" prompt. This Workplace/Job AU called Hostile Merger will be a series of interconnected stories featuring prompts from that comm that will (hopefully!) turn into a multi-chapter fic. Lol, I must secretly hate myself for wanting to do five ongoing stories at once. Wish me luck! :D

Pairings that I definitely know I'm doing in this fic are Grimmons, Bitthews, Chex, Lolix, Sarge x Grey, Docnut, Sheila x Lopez, Kai x Volleyball, and Palomo x Jensen. I'm still debating on some of the other pairings, which is why you don't see any mention of characters like Tucker, Washington, Carolina, and Kimball in the pairings list yet. I'll let you know what I decide regarding them later. XD