Rating: M, probably. Definitely, for the lingo.

Disclaimer: I don't own G.I. Joe: Renegades. Or Hersey's. Or Hubert's General Store and Pharmacy. Well, that last one is fictional, so maybe. But I definitely don't own a Slicing/Dicing/Juliennes Snake Eyes Action Figure. Yet.

A/N: Indeed, this is the Renegades storyline. I got to thinking about Scarlett being the one lady on a male squad driving across country in a truck. I laughed out loud at the resulting thought. Also, a warning. I have the tendency to amuse myself with poor attempts at humor. If by poor attempts I mean corny. Anyway:

Cramped (Doesn't Necessarily Apply to) Quarters

It starts a month later, after the Joes have escaped Springfield and are dodging precariously between the fingers of both the U.S. Military and Cobra forces. Scarlett is sitting in the co-pilot seat with Roadblock, as usual, driving his baby. Duke sits in the back, ice-blue eyes staring at some point in the middle distance, perhaps wondering if Cobra is triangulating their position using some random new toy, and beside him, Tunnel Rat, with his disgusting boots on the upholstery of Roadblock's surrogate child. Surreptitiously, Rat keeps his eye on Roadblock, who will dismember Rat for leaving boot marks on the clean leather interior. Snake Eyes is wherever he is, being mysterious, mute, and ninja-y, using the motorcycle as his transportation.

They are somewhere between nowhere and the Midwest, winding between acres of open farm land, green as the eye can see. Home towns are small, lightly populated, and miles stretch between them. They are on the outskirts of one such town, when Scarlett sits up, alert.

"Pull over! Now!" she says, in her do-not-mess-with-me-or-I'll-leave-a-scorch-mark-where-you-sit voice.

Ever the grunt, Roadblock obeys, swerving into a parking lot of Hubert's General Store and Pharmacy. He rolls to a stop. The truck idles as everyone expects her to announce there is a super-secret (ABSOLUTELY NO JOES ALLOWED. That means you, Springfield Four!) Cobra laboratory in this town, let's move out. She doesn't. Instead, without explanation, Scarlett scampers out of the truck and plows into the drug store, copper ponytail streaming behind her.

"What's up with her?" asks Rat. He has voiced the exact question the other two are thinking. "Are there baddies?"

Roadblock pokes at the touch screen interface of their newly-acquired vehicle. It takes him a few ponderous tries, but he finds the correct menu and button. Nothing shows on the radar. "Nothing's showing on the radar," he says. He glances over his shoulder at Duke, quite reasonably assuming that the officer in second command will have the solution to the problem.

Duke is at a loss. He shrugs. "I'll go find out what's going on." His thinking, as he holsters his freshly charged plasma pistol, is that Scarlett needs some back-up for an ass-kicking, and he's just the Joe for the job. Alternately, he finds it odd that she should want to risk being recognized. They are on the lam, since the 'Springfield Four' have been on every Cobra television screen for the last thirty-ish days.

Rat stops him with a wave. "No need. Here she comes."

Scarlett has in her hand a plastic bag, bulging with goodies. Instead of hopping in shotgun, she flings open the back of the truck and slams the doors shut, resulting in a clamorous wham that rings in the men's ears. The men glance at each other as they hear her rustle around for her pack. Silence. They are unsure about Scarlett's sudden…activity.

Duke realizes he is responsible at this moment. "Hey, Scarlett? Everything all right?" he asks, crouching in the opening that separates the cabin from the back. His shoulders fill the space. Scarlett is hunched over her pack and the stuff she bought in such a manner that Duke cannot see what she has.

She shoots him a glare that backs him up. "I'm fine, Sergeant," she says as coldly as her glare. Her hand is in the plastic bag. "Strap your ass back in your seat and get this tin can moving before Cobra or the military get eyes on us. That's an order."

Completely unnerved, Duke straps his ass back in his seat and gestures to Roadblock to do as she says, please hurry before the wrath of woman toasts them on the spot. Roadblock shifts the truck into gear and smoothly turns onto the highway. Scarlett finishes messing with whatever it was in the back, coming forward to settle into her usual seat. No one says anything, but there is an air around Scarlett that signals the others to not mess with her so help them God. They are not paranoid. In her head, she is sending each of them a murderous glare, warning them of violent and painful death if any of them dare to disturb her angst mode.

None of them dare to.

The silence is broken by the crackle of cellophane and the distinct odor of chocolate permeates the cabin. Rat's nose twitches. Hersey's? Nestle? Or is it…Godiva? His bet is on Hersey's. He leans forward to peer between the seats at Scarlett. Yep, that is most definitely a Hersey's chocolate bar, plain and neatly snapped into rectangles of delicious, melt-in-your-mouth pieces of heaven, in her lap.

"Miss Scarlett, do you have some to share with the entire class?" Rat asks, kidding, but truthfully, he has a secret soft spot for chocolate and wants some. He reaches out a hand to sneak a piece.

He is not the only one taken off guard when Scarlett's eyes narrow and she growls at him. Not a normal growl. Not even a grunt. Oh, no. Rat and the others are reminded of a dog protecting its territory, that sort of snarl that is a clear indication to back the fuck away or you'll find teeth in your jugular. A vicious growl that is the first, and last, warning. Rat, enjoying his limbs attached, withdraws. He shoots a terrified look at Duke, who is equally surprised and terrified. Roadblock has found the road ahead needs his utmost concentration to navigate.

They drive in utter silence until nightfall, when Roadblock turns into a protective bit of forest. The truck is good for trail-blazing and so they find a secluded area off the main road. They notice that Scarlett is rubbing at her lower back, but occupy themselves by diligently breaking camp and not saying anything. Snake Eyes shows up as Roadblock divvies up dinner. He lands softly at an open spot near the fire, having ninja'd a path through the trees and immediately feels the palpable tension strung in the air. How he has kept track of them no one asks.

No one asks, either, when Scarlett hoists her pack over her shoulders and marches into the trees without so much as a backwards glance. They seem content to let her leave. As soon as she disappears beyond the reach of the fire light, Rat breathes an audible sigh of relief.

"Anyone felt like if you breathed wrong, you'd be dead the next second?" he asks the group in general.

Duke and Roadblock mentally agree; Snake Eyes is absorbed with sharpening his katanas- -it is obvious he doesn't want to be involved. Duke swirls his Roadblock Surprise around in his mug. His spoon comes up misshapen and a gunky brown. "I wonder what's going on with her."

"We all are. Maybe our resident ninja can shed some light," says Roadblock. He has already finished his first serving of Roadblock Surprise and digs in for seconds. "So what do you say, Snakes? What's going on with Lt. Grumpy-pants?"

Snake Eyes gestures so vaguely that it could mean a thousand different things, but they comprehend when he points at her general direction and puts a finger over where his mouth would be if there hadn't been a cloth mask. A universal pantomime that means Be quiet around her. He has helped them the best way he knows how without explaining the female anatomy and all the intricacies inherently involved. Snake Eyes has known Scarlett going on the better part of a decade and understands when to keep out of her hair. He really hopes the others realize this as well or there will be blood shed in the immediate future.

"That's so helpful." Rat snorts as he stretches out his legs. "Not all of us are as disciplined in the art of silence as you are."

It's a stupid dig, and Snake Eyes remains unruffled. He continues working with meticulous efficiency on weaponry maintenance; he has moved to his stash of throwing knives. Not finding an audience with the ninja, Rat yawns, a huge thing that pops his jaw, and steps over to his sleeping bag. "Well," he says, "we've got a long day of escaping with our lives tomorrow. Better get my rest." Then he zips himself up so he looks like some swaddled child in the sleeping bag. Less than a minute passes. Soon, his snores blend with the night time chirps and croaks around them.

Duke's eyebrows are crunched together. An idea burrows into his brain an inch at a time. It hasn't taken shape yet, but the presence of it is there. He doesn't have time to work it out yet, as just then Scarlett tromps back, dumps her back and pokes a cautious spoon at the pan of bubbling Roadblock Surprise.

"I keep expecting this thing to rear up and take off a finger," she mutters.

Roadblock affects a wounded mien. "Aw, c'mon now, Scarlett," he says, "it ain't that bad."

Her chin is set in that mulish angle that Duke knows well, but he can't help the next comment from slipping out. "Probably spoiled your appetite with that chocolate bar."

"Thanks, Dad," she fairly hisses at him, "I'll remember that the next time you mow through a whole pizza by yourself."

"That wasn't me," Duke replies. He remembers the night when they'd ordered pizza, and he'd limited himself to four slices, but it was Roadblock who wanted, got, and consumed an entire eight slices by himself and eyeballed the rest of the group's leftovers so forlornly that they'd given in and donated the rest of their pizzas to him.

Scarlett rolls her eyes. "Yeah, sure, and Cobra Commander's the Pope."

Roadblock's pout becomes more pronounced as he says, "Scarlett, I don't think you-" He stops when he catches Snake Eyes gesturing frantically, the blade of his hand cutting across his throat. Stop talking! Roadblock fumbles, and finishes with, "-should name the Big Snake. Names hold power, you know."

She huffs, eyes on the fire in front of her. "Right. That the voodoo they teach you in Biloxi?"

Now genuinely hurt, Roadblock sulks into his third serving of the self-named surprise. Duke opens his mouth to reprimand Scarlett's cutting words, but Snake Eyes lands a hand on his shoulder. Duke glances up and sees Snakes shaking his head. No. The silence leaving a bad taste in his mouth, Duke sets aside his dinner and heads to bed.

"Wake me up for watch," he says over his shoulder at Snake Eyes or Roadblock, whichever one it will be, "and goodnight, Lieutenant."

Scarlett does not reply. The night bears down on the group with complete normalcy and quiet. The moon sets, the sun rises. In the morning, Scarlett refuses to leave her sleeping bag. She is curled in on herself, grimacing with pain, and admits, "I'm not feeling well. I think Roadblock's 'surprise' is fighting back."

Duke and Rat and Roadblock glance at each other, helpless. Snake Eyes is invisible. Duke breaks the uneasy silence, putting to words their objective and mission. "We need to move out. Let's get Scarlett on the truck. She can lie down in the back."

This seems like a good idea until they approach her. Unconsciously, they move with extreme caution, tiptoeing along over the ground, treating Scarlett like they would a slumbering scorpion-bear hybrid, complete with venomous, stinging tail. (Somewhere in an underground lab, Mindbender cackles as an idea occurs to him.) They are within three feet when they come up short. Over the cool morning noises of chirping birds- -one of which is a woodpecker hammering into a tree trunk, but they fail to understand that it is Snake Eyes again, trying desperately to warn them off in rapid Morse code- -there is the high pitched hum of a pulse weapon powering up.

"You come near me," warns Scarlett from prone, her crossbow gun propped in her hands, "you die."

They hesitate, unsure if it's a promise or a threat, but lean toward the former. Duke nods his formidable chin at Roadblock, who vehemently shakes his head and raises his hands. Not me. He points to Rat. Rat's jaw drops. He cups a hand to his ear.

"Eh? What's that Snakes? You need me for something only I can help with somewhere in the woods?" Rat shrugs, smirking. Snake Eyes, from his perch, rolls his unseen eyes. "You heard the man. Gotta go." He scuttles off like a cockroach, leaving Duke, frowning, at Roadblock.

Roadblock dives for an excuse, any excuse, the Hail Mary of excuses. He says, "The truck needs a tune up. Can't help you!" And likewise hurdles away from what could possibly be ground zero. Duke has never seen Roadblock move as fast as that, and in fact, would never have believed a man 400-plus pounds could outsprint Flash himself.

So. Duke is left with Scarlett and no Snake Eyes in sight. Feeling wholly abandoned, Duke figures he'll have to save himself, this time. She eyes him down the sight of her pulse crossbow, her face pale, her aim accurate, her trigger finger trembling. He's done less nerve-wracking jobs defusing homemade bombs in Afghanistan and Iraq.

"Whoa, ma'am." Carefully, he puts his arms out to the side to show he's unarmed and not dangerous. "No need for violence."

"I'll be the judge of that," she replies, evenly. "Back away. Slowly. Hands where I can see them." He has no choice but to comply. A pulse round pocks the ground near his foot, black and smoking, and understandably perturbed, he glares at Scarlett. "That," she says, "is to remind you of who you're dealing with. Find some other damsel in distress you can annoy."

"Scarlett…"

"Shove. Off!"

He doesn't want to seem unmanly, but Scarlett's frosty look leaves no room for debate. Besides, Roadblock, Rat, and Snake Eyes are nowhere in sight. He shoves off and decides his best bet is to putter around inside the truck analyzing any data he can find. Throughout the day, as they attempt to go about their business with some semblance of normalcy, the men steal furtive glances at Scarlett, who remains in her sleeping bag and leaves only for privacy in the woods. Her excursions last under ten minutes each time, and each time, she returns to her sleeping bag.

Duke can't stop wanting to know what's wrong. He's standing with Rat and Roadblock behind the truck, out of view of Scarlett for their little pow-wow. "We should talk to her."

Roadblock rocks back to his heels. "Not me. Nuh-uh. You're on your own."

"Yeah, it's your funeral, man," Rat says. "We're staying clear."

Snake Eyes, the lethal eavesdropper he is, keeps to the treetops out of sight. Pfft. No way he's volunteering.

After about another hour, Duke finally musters up the courage to approach her again, but this time he hovers around outside the three-foot range. He waffles between another inch and remaining in what appears to be the green zone. Rat and Roadblock are under the hood of the truck. They are pretending to change the oil, but watch with the rapt attention of people about to witness a horrible car crash. Snake Eyes similarly watches, coiling his muscles in case he needs to make an emergency escape.

Duke shifts. He feels uncomfortably exposed and realizes he's got a long ten yards to dash for cover. "Um, Scarlett?"

"What?" Her tone is equal parts physical exhaustion, annoyance, and commander.

"Uh, we were, I mean, the guys and I wanted to, what we wanted to say is-"

She huffs and hones her glass-green eyes on him. "Spit it out, Hauser."

"Is there anything we can do to help? You know that Tunnel Rat's a medic. Maybe he can examine you or something…?" He glances over at the other two. Each one of them is distressed, wide-eyed. Rat and Roadblock are sure Duke will die. Snake Eyes holds his breath; breathing will give away his position. "We're just worried, is all."

He's said something right. For once. Scarlett's shoulders sag as she gives him a weary smile. "Thanks, Duke. The start of it is always the hardest." He continues to look clueless, kind of like a puppy trying to figure out what to do with a ball the first time. Aggravated that his man-brain can't comprehend, Scarlett throws him a bone, instead. "The cramps are the worst part of it."

There is a lingering moment of silence as her comment sinks in. Then Tunnel Rat, with his usual tact, announces from the distance, "Wait. So I feared for my life because of your period?"

A/N: And the ensuing chaos is written with paroblic witt and cartoonish humor. Meh. My regular readers are probably "WTF? What is this?". Those of you who likey-likey let me know with a comment or two. Thanks, all. =)