Don't Write Me A Postscript

Sarge gripped his shotgun tightly in front of himself as he glanced over toward the female-not-quite-as-useless Grif sibling. For some reason that probably made sense in her young mind she stood in the middle of the Gulch with no armor, only a standard issue and rather basic M6D Magnum Sidearm and the girl didn't even have the balls to have it out and aimed properly. No, she had the weapon holstered, which baffled Sarge something fierce and not for the first time left him to wonder about the sanity of the Grif siblings. After a minute Sarge shook his head. He didn't understand the youth these days with their long hair styles and weird fashions—no matter what anyone said halter tops were not appropriate to wear either beneath a man's undersuit or as just normal every day wear. You kept clothes like that for around your base and your private quarters, not out in an open field all willy nilly.

Still, Sarge mused, at least he knew where he stood with this one. Which was to say that she didn't have two brains to rub together and he didn't mean that unkindly, either. Oh no this 'Sister' Grif was far more sinister than her older brother, Sarge knew that the minute she first opened her mouth and declared herself a rotten damn Blue! Sinister, deceptive—not to be trusted except, well, she was a damn Grif. Grif's were good for a scant few things in this world aside from trust—and none of which Sarge felt remotely comfortable with around women, except trust—and Sister had damned proven how untrustworthy she really was. Sarge wouldn't lie and say he wanted to shoot the girl either; after all he didn't want to outright shoot Sister—and not for that namby-pamby nonsense he fed that Freelancer spook either.

Sarge truthfully didn't have anything against hitting a girl; he'd fought alongside several dangerous women who could give as good as they got before he'd retired into the glorious Red Army. No, Sister reminded him a fair bit about some of his old battle buddies so he'd never quite have an issue with shooting her except that, well, she was a young one—and obviously beloved by his Grif, not that he'd ever make a claim on the lay about like that. Plus her closeness to Grif-the-senior and her age, in turn, made Sarge think of his nana and then of his nieces and that was where the hang-ups first started. Grif-the-younger felt more like someone he should damn well keep an eye on not because she needed someone to hold her hand, but because she got herself into more trouble than she'd like to admit. This situation here was prime example number one, after all!

Not including Sister's own insanity rearing its ugly head—ugh, drama, such a nasty Blue thing to have to deal with—but now her dark and sordid past came a-knockin' and it took two of Sarge's own into it's midst! Grif could handle himself well enough—he was related to the problem so he had the skills, if he didn't Sarge doubted the other man would have even lived long enough to be drafted into the glorious Red Army—but Simmons, well, now that boy had some prime issues for the taking. Sarge tightened his grip on his shotgun and hefted it a bit closer. Grif would do his damnedest, he was sure, to protect the senior officer—in this case being Simmons—but that didn't account for the fact that truthfully between the two of them in this scenario Simmons was the expendable one. Simmons didn't have any ties to the troublemaker in question aside from being tongue-tied and left-footed around the lazy Grif for whatever fool reason got up in that boy's head.

Sarge snorted, and then stilled when he caught the familiar sound of a pelican dropship. He wouldn't lie and say that noise haunted him in his dreams; Sarge knew he had his own fair share of issues including his crippling fear of heights, having spent years fighting not just the Covvie's but also Insurrectionists before they even knew the Covvie's were a thing—and he still hated the sound of the damn pelican's despite how useful they were. With a huff Sarge squared himself up and glanced back over to Sister whose face pinched together almost painfully. In silence Sarge turned his gaze back toward the pelican and waited.

Corey glanced at Grif and Simmons as Kappa brought the pelican down to land. As a precaution he'd stripped the two of their armor back when he initially brought them aboard. Corey still hadn't resupplied the two with their arms and armor, even after their talk for all of two hours during the descent to Blood Gulch. He honestly didn't plan to return the boys' their armor until after he'd gotten Kai calmed down. Hell, Corey himself didn't have his traditional Freelancer armor on, or even the remains of his cobbled-together armor from his days as a part of the New Republic. Instead Corey dressed down; it didn't make him any less of a danger than he normally was, and Corey reveled in the ability to be free of the constraints of armor that he'd essentially grown up wearing his whole life.

With a huffed sigh and a glance at the two simulation troopers behind him Corey leaned against the edge of the pelican's rear doors almost disinterestedly. Really this whole endeavor exhausted him to no end—dealing with Kai's family, with Kappa's stubbornness, and now pulled from his search to find a solution to what Hargrove fucking did—Corey was tired. He wanted to sleep for a week, but there was work. If that meant he suffered through this menagerie of stupidity then fine; he'd get the job done and go back to what really mattered.

"Those doors drop the two of you are out first," Corey said plainly. He ignored the way Simmons squawked something about 'Sarge' and 'shotgun' and the two boys being squishy-flesh-filled beings. It didn't matter. If the helljumper stood there with a shotgun primed and ready to fire without the forethought to keep his finger off the damned trigger until he knew everyone stood before him armored up, not his problem. If the two died from shotgun rounds to the face because Corey decided to be generous and let them off the pelican first? Well, Kai could take it up with the old man.

"Sarge always has his shotgun on him," Grif said, and Corey spared the larger man a glance.

"Then hope he doesn't shoot," Corey replied. Honestly how stupid could you be? Yes he and Grif talked, Corey explained the things he needed to, to have Grif on his side so he could get Kai to chill out quicker. If her ire turned away from him and toward the helljumper then that was fine with him—his job here, ultimately, was done for the moment.

"Sarge always shoots first," Grif pointed out dryly.

"Then you better hope he misses," Corey drawled just as the pelican landed. He eyed the way Simmons paled, how the mechanical bits stuttered with the slow restart of their processes thanks to Kappa. The delay would buy him time with the cyborg for now, but he filed away the concern and fear of their C.O. for later contemplation.

Corey knew all about fearing your C.O. After all he feared Flowers something fierce, but then he also had to suffer under Flowers' unique brand of 'tutelage' after he'd been drafted forcefully into Freelancer. Torture did not a loyal subject make, but it did break down some pretty strong barriers with the right touch. The rear hatch began to hiss open and Corey tapped the side twice to pull himself out of his contemplation.

"You're up boys," he said and drifted as far out of the way as he could to watch. Corey wondered if he should expect some sort of retaliation from Grif and Simmons as the two exchanged glances, and as Grif narrowed heterochromatic eyes at him. The sound of a shotgun round pinged against the edge of the pelican and Corey blinked his own flinch in surprise.

They really weren't kidding about the old man being a shoot first kind of man, Corey noted. Oh well, Kai could handle him. He eyed Grif and Simmons and noted how Grif straightened the slightest bit and Simmons shifted just the slightest behind the larger man. Or, maybe, these two could handle their C.O. well enough on their own.

"SARGE QUIT FIRING!" Grif shouted.

"An' how do I know you boys aren't just some blue-nabbed doubles?!" Sarge yelled, although he dropped the gun slightly. Corey cocked his head to get a decent glance at the red dressed soldier—he spotted Kai dressed down off to the other side, arms crossed.

"Sarge! It's us!" Simmons shouted back; he trembled faintly, and Corey wondered if it was because of him or the maniac in red outside. He watched the way Simmons glanced in his direction—okay, to be fair, Corey probably deserved the disgusted look he received.

"Simmons?" Sarge just barely lowered his gun a tad more when Simmons spoke up. "What's the password?"

"Uh, password?" Grif and Simmons contained almost incredulous looks at the so simple question and Corey—Corey wondered what Flowers was even thinking. That was—that couldn't be real…could it?

"Grif? Simmons?" Corey watched the two relax slightly. "Well dagnabbit boys get your kesters out here! What are you doing alive on that ship? Where's this blue bastard that kidnapped ya?!"

Corey wanted to groan; of course it was real—real on par with Michael and Kai and Jenkins and himself. In the years adrift alone in space with only Kappa for company apparently Corey had forgotten about Flowers and his ridiculous ideas of 'fun.' For a moment Corey wondered how far down the rabbit hole of fun Sarge was before he shook his head. Cautiously, certain to stick to the shadows, Corey followed Grif and Simmons out of the cargo hold and off toward the side. He kicked back and rested against the pelican to watch the rest of the reunion—the way Kai relaxed the slightest bit to see her brother well and alive, and the way her gaze darted over toward him. He smirked.

'I'm on a murder break,' Corey mouthed and fought down a laugh at the way Kai ground her teeth and clenched her hands. Oh he'd pay for that, especially for the manner in which he got her attention anyway, still—Corey watched Kai brush him aside to wrap her arms tightly around Grif.

"Dex!"

"Ah—shit, Kai, careful!" Grif grunted, and then fell over backward as if his sister were truly that heavy. The byplay was grossly familial and made Corey miss John just the slightest bit. He sighed through his nose.

"Where in the hell are your armors, boys?" Sarge gruffed, shotgun now all the way down as he regarded his two 'soldiers' with a surprising amount of expression despite the hinderance of the helmet. "Where are your regulation reds?!"

"Confiscated," Grif huffed from underneath Kai.

"That—that weird megalomaniac removed our armor after he knocked us out and left us—us naked in the—the—ugh!" Simmons twitched and threw his hands up.

"Hey!" Kai snapped and Corey blinked at the sudden defensive hunch to her shoulders. "Watch who you are calling megalomaniac!"

"You can't be defending him!" Simmons outright gaped, and Corey had to agree with the red head. He stared at Kai like he couldn't fathom what she said because, out of everything, he expected her to go for his head first.

"I…hate to agree with the cyborg, here," Corey said slowly, and mindful of how he drew Sarge's attention and gun directly upon his person, "but what the fuck?"

"Oh I'm still gonna kick your ass," Kai ground out and Corey quickly cast his gaze off to the side as she gripped Grif tighter. "You threatened Dex." She wasn't even remotely surprised to see him off the ship, not that Corey doubted she knew he'd followed after the two. Sarge however sputtered his shock openly.

"Excuse me for wanting to avoid having an RPG thrown in my face as a greeting," Corey said back as he folded his arms. "And don't fucking tell me you wouldn't."

"I still might," Kai bared her teeth and Corey bared his right back.

"Oh could you two quit flirting already!" Simmons huffed.

"You two are not flirting!" Grif shrieked.

"Even I can see the sexual tension from here," Sarge agreed. Corey debated the merits of just shooting them all when he remembered that they were needed. They were close to Alpha.

Their deaths would end in another fragment, and no one at Project Freelancer wanted that at this stage. Corey sighed and ran his hand through his hair, tired and stressed about this entire mess. He really didn't want to be here—he wanted to be out there, headed for home and a way to fix that mess instead. He hated this; he hated being away from John, hated that he'd been roped into this mess.

"Well I say no sex with this douche bag!" Grif finally spat out and Corey snorted.

"Too late for that," Corey mumbled and watched Grif struggle against Kai.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Corey rolled his eyes and turned his attention straight towards Kai instead; he ignored the simulation troopers and their interactions. They weren't really worth his attention.

"Well?" Corey asked. Kai struggled with Grif for a second longer until the older sibling's stomach growled heavily.

"I think it's snack time," Kai promptly said.

"I think it's murder the fucking freelancer time," Grif grumbled under his breath even as he accepted Kai's hand up once she'd shifted off of him.

"Oh c'mon," Kai whined. "You know I'd fuck anything that moves."

"That doesn't mean I like it!" Grif snapped. "Or approve! Especially about him!" He gestured wildly at Corey who shrugged.

"Snack time?" Corey offered.

"Don't you dare try to distract me!"

Simmons timed in at the perfect moment, and Corey wondered how their synchronization worked so well. The timid man eased the nerves of the larger, more painful trooper with simple and coaxed phrases. For all they didn't appear to be actively intimate right now, they certainly worked as a couple. Corey wondered about them, then sighed.

"Grif you've barely eaten your normal portion for a month," Simmons said. "We should just take the suggestion of your stomach and get some food in you. I'm sure your snack stash is still there?" Simmons glanced to Sarge who looked away.

"Ah, well, I might've—Command ordered it! Yeah, Command ordered me to clean out all the snacks," Sarge nodded to himself.

"YOU WHAT!?"

In an instant Grif headed toward Sarge, voice raised to almost frantic levels. Corey thought he heard something about twinkies—and didn't those end up discontinued over a century ago?—and snack cakes and sodas, but he didn't quite care about all that. Snacks were the distraction for Grif, and he'd take the distraction over the man's blatant distaste right now.

"Well?" Kai questioned, and then jerked her head to move a little way away. Corey followed her sedately, hands stuffed into his pockets. He expected the sudden move from Kai when she pinned him to the hull of the pelican with a knife to his throat. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Kai hissed.

Corey raised his hands. "I'm sorry," he said. "Your brother was my only insurance. I would never take that from you."

"Oh yeah?" Kai ground out.

"Well, not intentionally," Corey amended.

Kai growled and turned away. "What is so important that you had to come all the way over here and break the pact? What does that southern piece of shit even want now? I'm already busy here—that stupid computer in the caverns has fucked everything up and it's hard to get rid of all of this damned data!"

Corey grimaced. "It's Alpha," he said.

"What about that cocksucker?" Kai questioned. She turned, cocked her head in concern. Corey noted that she genuinely felt concerned about the guy, distasteful nickname aside.

"Washington has hold of him," Corey said.

"So?"

"They are going after Maine."

Kai rolled her eyes. "Alpha's a fucking cockroach. He'll be fine," she waved a hand and started back toward the simulation troopers. Corey grit his teeth and reached out to grab her by the arm.

"California is with them," he hissed. "Michael is there—and you know Alpha is unstable."

Kai jerked her arm out of Corey's grip and grasped it herself. She frowned and kept her gaze off of Corey as she thought. "Cal can take care of himself," she said sharply. "He knows the protocols; and Alpha isn't unstable he's just…confused."

"His memories are a mess, he can't tell fantasy from reality, and he's probably splitting at the seams into splinters because his code has been dissected so severely," Corey countered. "Plus, you know how California is right now—how he's been since the implantation. If he's thinking like Cal then I'd say yeah, sure—but if he's Michael? You know he'll ignore it. They crave each other. You saw that. We all did."

Kai shrugged. "That's why the mess of memories is good. Alpha's completely bonkers and think's he's a ghost. He won't try integrating again."

"But he could recover," Corey pointed out. "It's barely been over a year since Epsilon. He could recover, remember. We don't know the extent of his delusion because Florida never got the chance to record it—"

Kai held up a hand, and then slapped them onto her hips. She scowled at Corey who backed up just a bit because he knew that look. He knew to fear it. "I have a good deal here, Andersmith," Kai ground out. "I get to party when I want, fuck when I want, drink and do whatever the fuck I want—deal with that cockbite of an AI down in the caverns when I fucking want all as long as I get the data here gone. Why should I bother leaving this gig when it's so fucking perfect?"

Corey ground his teeth together. "Do you think, for a moment, they'll let them go?" He jerked his head toward the troopers who were still in a heated argument. "That they'll get to leave and continue on in a civilian life after they interacted with Alpha? With the program's deepest secrets?"

Kai clenched a fist. "The Director—"

"Oh no, he's not that much of an idiot," Corey agreed, "but there are others."

Kai hissed through her teeth. She knew precisely what Corey meant. Omega Squad after all knew all of the projects dirty little secrets, even the ones the Director hadn't known about.

"Fine. Fine!" Kai threw up her hands. "What do you suggest?"

Corey smiled, although it wasn't kind or nice. He knew he'd get her on his side with a few words and logic. He tossed an I told you so at Kappa who proceeded to slam into Corey with the weight of a freight train in response. Okay, Corey noted, Kappa was still pissed. He'd have to deal with that soon.

"We hunt them down," Corey said after a moment. "Listen for the Recovery Beacon. Step in; save their ass—kill Maine."

"Kill Maine?" Kai asked, face utterly blank of emotion.

"Kill Maine," Corey agreed. "Sync?"

"Sync."

Fun fact most of my chapters are three scenes but this one felt better when it ended at two. Corey gave me problems-in fact all of them did. Kai, Grif, Simmons, Sarge-it was a struggle to get them to cooperate. Caboose and Church wanted the spotlight instead-so I had to write out a bunch of shit that happens later.

It's not the first time. I have some scenes from season 10 already written, after all. I know where this is going.