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"What are you doing?"
Washington looked up from where he sat, his full armor in front of him neatly set on the crates that served as a coffee table. There was a dishcloth in his right hand and his helmet in the other, the armor piece polished to a sheen.
"Cleaning my armor. You should too, I'm pretty sure you're visor's not meant to be that shade of tan."
"No, I mean what are you doing?" Washington looked at Tucker, the way Tucker said that, as if polishing your armor was wrong caught him off guard. Who knew, with these people polishing your armor might be a big taboo, Wash couldn't understand why that might be but it might be.
"Polishing my armor." He cautiously said, he set down his helmet and turned his full attention towards Tucker. "Is something wrong with that?"
Caboose walked in then, a children's book tucked against his blue chest piece. It was around lunch time and for some reason Caboose associated food time as story time as well.
"Agent Washingtub- GASP!" Caboose stood stock still and then hurried towards the crates, his book lying on the cement floor. He plucked the gray and yellow helmet out of Wash's hands and stared worriedly at it, or at least that was the vibe Wash was getting.
"Agent Washingtub, can you hear me? Don't worry I will fix you!" The sim soldier grabbed Washington's chest piece and jammed it on top of the empty helmet. Twisting the helmet like a screw it popped on but the helmet itself was backwards.
"Is it working Washingtub?" Caboose asked worriedly. Tucker was snickering in the background but Caboose ignored him.
Washington sighed, he loved Caboose, don't mistake that, but he wasn't the brightest soldier. "Caboose. I'm right here."
"I know you are washingdryer," Caboose continued to yell at the empty head-piece, "I'll put you back together."
Tucker rolled his eyes behind his visor. "He's right there you fucktard."
Caboose looked toward Tucker and slowly but surely with the help of Tucker's pointer finger he found Wash on the couch.
"Hi." Washington waved lamely.
"Agent Washingdryer?"
"Not even close but yes." Caboose looked to Agent Washington's seemingly bare form and the helmet in his hands, Tucker could practically see the hamster wheel in Caboose's heard working.
"Don't die Washingtub!" And with that Caboose unscrewed the helmed and shoved it on his head. Of course, his helmet had to be on sideways so that all he could see was the right of the room where Tucker was laughing his ass off.
Caboose was shoving pieces of armor on him, his grip was surprisingly strong for a soldier with no real training so Wash had to fight off the leg piece Caboose was trying to fit on his left arm. All the while, Caboose was wailing about the air and his state of being making it hard to reason with him.
"What's going on Caboose? What's this about the air?" Wash asked, there was something metal being shoved to his chest and his helmet had decided to become more unhelpful and twisted further, leaving him blind to 7/8ths of the room.
"Command told us the air was freaky back at Blood Gulch." Tucker said, sounding closer, out of his visor's vision. "He probably thinks it's still radioactive or whatever."
The pressure on his lap left and he removed his helmet revealing helmet hair and a frown. "But there was nothing wrong with the air back at Blood Gulch. All helmets have the air level on the huds. It was breathable."
"You're not going to die?" Caboose asked cautiously. He held Washington's chest piece, and Wash figured that was what was on his lap. Though there was armor between their faces Washington could just tell Caboose was doing his best puppy dog expression.
"No, Caboose, I'm not going to die."
Tucker opened his mouth, probably going to say something stupid, when Sarge's loud southern accent boomed into the base.
"Hey dirty Blues, hands up or get shotgun to the face!"
"What do they want?" Tucker asked. Ever since Washington joined, the team red team had been on a losing streak and recently they've been on the defensive. Of course Washington had offered several treaties based on the fact that they don't actually want to hurt each other and the war was a lie anyway but alas, truth or lies Sarge was Sarge and they had the equipment anyway right? Might as well use it.
Sometimes Washington couldn't tell if he loved or hated his current place.
Not bothering with his armor Washington followed his soldiers outside. The reds were standing there, Sarge at the fore front and Grif at the very back. "Listen up Blues," Sarge reloaded his shotgun, "today you die!"
"Dude you're still on this?" Tucker said, "We're not really at war you know."
Then Wash walked out, in his plain gray hoodie and sweat pants that covered his bare feet. Immediately all helmets pointed to him.
"Uh," Grif eloquently said, "Who's that?"
"Jiminy Cricket, he's got his helmet off!" Sarge peered at Wash from behind his visor. "How are you not dead? Are you a robot?"
Simmons though, seemed to know immediately. "Wash?"
"Holy shit Wash?" Grif walked a little forwards to get a better look but he was still a safe distance away from the front. "You have a face?"
"What is the meaning of this?" Sarge barked.
"Told you the air wasn't toxic." Simmons muttered. "But no, no one listens to Simmons."
"Sometimes I wonder how you guys have survived so long."
"Does this mean I can start giving everyone face massages?" Donut, at least, seemed thrilled.
"How are you alive?" Sarge shouted, "Command told us the air was toxic and we'd die if we so much as lifted our helmets."
Grif rolled his eyes, "That was back at Blood Gulch and Command also told us we were fighting a real war."
Sarge, as always, pretend he didn't hear Grif talking.
Donut gave a sound that was between a squeal and a shriek, he was bouncing, something the red team associated as 'too energetic to be any good'."Wash you look so handsome, I was expecting an old coop with gray hair. You don't look a day over thirty-seven."
Washington while having a few visible gray hairs was still mainly blonde, light freckles spotting his face light tan face. He had some bags under his steel grey eyes but it wasn't too bad, not as bad as it once was at least. Even in his baggy clothing it was clear the man had muscles on him, a nice military figure any guy would be jealous of. There were a few light scars on his face but it didn't take away from his appearance, instead giving him a little rough around the edges look.
Tucker snorted, "You kidding me, I'm way more hotter than he is! In fact, I'm so hot every time a woman sees me they're all over this?" He jerked his hips and Washington felt a dire need to order Tucker for more drills.
"And what about Texas?" Grif asked, "Cause I know she couldn't stand near three feet of you."
"Says you, I bet you're an ugly heavy dude with fat rolls."
"Now now," Caboose said slowly, "No need to call people names, I'm sure Grif's very handsome."
"Don't need to see him under the armor to know he's a fat ass." Sarge not so quietly muttered.
"Fuck off bluetard. At least I'm not the ugliest in the canyon."
All helmets turned toward Simmons and he spluttered, his tone becoming indignant. "You've never seen my face! How should you know what I look like."
"It's alright Simmons." Donut cooed placatingly, "Some people don't get good looks but you have other talents like that thing you do-"
"Kissing Sarge's ass." Tucker said helpfully.
"Yeah that," Donut nodded eagerly, "and-"
"I get it Donut, but what I want to know is what makes you think I'm ugly." Simmons looked at Grif their visors reflecting each other, "I mean I'm sure you've never seen me so what makes you say I'm ugly?"
"I might've never seen your face Simmons but it doesn't take much to understand the concept of inner ugliness."
"You're the one to talk Grif." Sarge said unkindly.
"Wait!" Everyone paused and looked at Washington, his face was mix of curiosity and general 'I kind of don't want to hear the answer.'
"Are you saying you guys have never seen each other's faces? I mean- what- how many years have you been stationed together? Didn't you say you had to perform surgery on one another? How could you do that without even seeing the patient's face?"
He could see it in their little armored shrug, heard it before any of them could say it, 'We just never thought about it." Like it wasn't a big deal, and maybe it wasn't. Wash just didn't get it, they worked so well in their own way. Their camaraderie was nothing he'd seen before but their was something there that he was loathed to admit the Freelancer's never had and it wasn't exactly trust but it was a kind of freeing thing. Here you were an asshole up front, there were no masks and daggers, Tucker was a pervert, Caboose wasn't the brightest, so on and so forth. To think that without showing their faces there were more truthful than his old team was a little sad.
Simmons pained keening sound pulled Washington from his reverie and from the looks pointed at Sarge he didn't want to know what he said if he wanted to keep his sanity.
"-and that's how we did the surgery! So you see you don't need to see any of the person you're operating on to do a successful surgery!" Sarge finished off.
"I helped!" Donut said cheerfully.
"It's not like we wore the helmets twenty four-seven." Tucker added nonchalantly, "The base at blood gulch was mostly opened to the air, the kitchen, the living room, all open. The only enclosed rooms with AC were our own and the shower."
"I don't think that quite how that works." Wash muttered, too quiet for anyone to hear.
"Same at red base." Simmons said, "The shower was one stall and really small with a lock. I could use all the privacy I could get so my bunk was off limits..."
"Bow chicka bow wow."
"So you guys have never seen each other faces? And you don't think that's weird at all?" There were more questions in his head, about how they ate when the only places they could take off their helmet was the shower room or their own bunk or maybe why the fuck haven't they checked their air level, seriously it's right there in green but he settles on this.
They all look at each other, no facial features to go on but all coming to the same conclusion.
"No." They say simply, Caboose a few seconds behind from everyone else.
"Well it's a little weird now that you mention it." Donut said, he was still bouncing on his armored toes. "But we can fix it now can't we? Wash already started so who's next?"
"I'm not a sissy." Sarge said and in the next second his helmet was in his hands. He looked around wildly and took a large breath and when it was clear he wasn't going to die of asphyxiation he smiled, small but enough to show off a little of his pearly white straight teeth. "Ha suck it blues! I won't fall for your stupid tricks."
"But it wasn't a trick." Washington sighed.
Sarge had a military regulation cut, his white hair only outdone by his white teeth. He was clearly older than Wash but there weren't that many wrinkles on his face and no bags. His jaw was rock hard and his eyes were a dark brown, his face whiskerless. He had a pale scar that went from the upper right of his forehead down to his upper cheekbone but beside that his face was free of marks. Washington could see the glint of a chain, most likely dog tags that was mostly hidden by the neck part of the chest piece.
"Who's next?" Donut asked eagerly.
"Oh me, me, me!" Caboose raised his hand, practically jumping for recognition.
"Yes," Washington deadpanned, "Caboose."
Caboose lifted his helmet and then proceeded to throw it up in the air. He breathed in and smiled, carefree and large. "I didn't die!"
"No Caboose, you didn't die."
Caboose had a certain boyish charm to him, Wash could already tell. He had large blue eyes, almost the same as his armor, and messy black hair. Of course that could've just been helmet hair but something told Washington it was naturally that way. He was clean-shaven with no razor cuts on his skin that made Wash think that Caboose wasn't capable of having facial hair. He was young, probably early twenties to mid twenties and for a second Washington felt bad for the kid, for the things Freelancer dragged him through before he let that rot with the other guilt and regrets he had.
"Oh, seeing all of you strip is getting me so excited! I'm going next!"
Donut ignored Simmons moan of 'every time' and removed his helmet.
Donut had a little more baby fat than Caboose and he was smooth looking. Wash thought he looked young, probably same age range as Caboose. He had dirty blonde hair, a little on the curly side and bright blue eyes. There was scars all across the right side of his face, faded but whatever he got it from must've hurt. Thankfully though his right eye didn't seem damaged. He smiled and his eyes held an innocent sort of airheadedness that almost rivaled Caboose.
"Are you wearing lip gloss?" Simmons asked, ignoring the scars.
"I need my lips to be healthy, I wouldn't-"
"Yeah," Tucker interrupted, "uh, good, where'd you get the scars from?"
Donut pouted, "That meanie Tex threw a sticky glow-y thing on me. It exploded and left me with all these scars."
Washington opened his mouth, begging to ask how'd he survive a sticky grenade straight to the face but stopped himself. Sometimes it was better not to ask.
"I guess I'll go." Tucker said, already in the process of removing his helmet.
"Tucker is dark like chocolate!"
Tucker rolled his brown eyes, "Yeah, Caboose, I'm dark, it's called being black."
"You know I feel like we should've picked up on this sooner." Grif said lazily.
Tucker had short black hair and brown eyes. He was smooth-faced and nonchalant. Washington was surprised to see a glint of a silver chain that resembled Sarge's. Was it just a plain necklace or dog tags as well?
"Your turn." All eyes landed on Simmons and Grif. Simmons was fidgeting and it was obvious he was getting a little self-conscious. Grif just sighed and muttered, "Might as well get over it."
"Gasp! Grif's a Dalmatian!"
"He's not a Dalmatian you idiot, he's got skin grafts!"
Washington had heard about the accident in which Simmons donated some of his skin and seemingly most of his organs to Grif but it didn't occur to him then that it made Grif's and most likely Simmons appearance changed. It was so out of thought that these idiots could do a surgery successfully that it didn't seem to stick in his mind. It wasn't a bad job, hell they could've done worse and killed them halfway surgery but it wasn't unnoticeable, at least there weren't glaring stitches there.
Grif had dark brown, almost black hair, and one brown eye and one green eye. He had a tan visage except for most of the left side of his face which was glaringly white, a small amount of. Grif's face was chubby as predicted, and there was a medium level of stubble on his face except for where Simmon's skin lay. It wasn't that offsetting and if Grif did a little trimming to the other side the stubble wouldn't look that weird.
But it wasn't the stubble that people would look at would it?
"Hey, you always said you wanted to go tan, well now that the air's fine, you can!" Donut said optimistically and Wash thought he was right. He could just tan and while Simmon's skin might not produce the same skin tone it could be close enough to not be weird.
Grif just grunted, and turned to watch Simmons with the rest of the crew. Simmons just fidgeted some more and after a few seconds in which Washington wondered if he should call them back, he just huffed and lifted his helmet.
The first thing Washington was drawn to was the big red robotic eye that served as a replacement for Simmons donated one. The thing was red and seemingly unblinking and admittedly a little creepy.
"Simmon's an andriod!"
"Cyborg, actually." Simmons said absentmindedly, his stance was a little on the defensive, his maroon helmet held in his hands almost like a shield.
"Semantics," Grif said.
Simmons left cheek, in the same place as Grif was covered, or made of metal plating. He was clean-shaven, green eye restlessly taking their reactions and blinking while his red eye still stared, only beat in intensity by his red hair.
"Can you shoot lazers out of your eyes cyborg Simmons?"
And like that the tension in Simmons was gone.
"No, that's a dumb question-"
"Actually..." Sarge rubbed the bottom of his chin.
"Sir?"
"Do you have X-Ray vision?" Donut asked, his glossed lips stretching into a deceptively innocent smile. "Can you tell what I'm wearing under the armor?"
"Whoa, where can I get X-Ray vision eyes?" Tucker asked.
"I don't have X-Ray vision eyes!"
"Guys what do you think Church looks like? When he comes back we should ask him."
Grif yawned, leisurely he stripped off his armor until he was in just in sweats and an orange t-shirt.
"Where're you going Private Grif?" Sarge demanded, "The battle isn't over yet!"
"It hasn't even started and I'm going to tan."
Donut squealed, "Oh, I'll tan with you, we can be tanning buddies, I'll get the suntan lotion and I could help put it on your back."
Grif paused in his stroll, "On second thought, I'll do that later, I just remembered I need to help Simmons with something."
Simmons quirked his eyebrow, "Oh?"
"Yeah, that thing, with the-" Grif took Simmons gloved hand in his bare ones, "Come on." He tugged insistently.
"I'm going, geesh!"
Sarge looked around Wash was undefended which was good but he was down two men and fighting a man when he has no armor wasn't honorable. Sneak attacks were good and spying was excellent, sabotage is sure to give you medals but you just don't fight a man unarmored unless you're unarmored too. And to be honest Sarge wasn't sure he could take Wash with just fists. "Tomorrow you will die blues! Retreat!"
And with that Sarge jammed his helmet back on and ran back to Red base, Donut trotting alone behind him helmetless.
"Well that was fun." Washington said, "Lunch time anyone?"
"Oh Wash! Can you read me a story?" If Wash didn't stand a chance with Caboose in armor he definitely couldn't stand a chance with Caboose out of armor, his big blue eyes just seemed to reel you in.
"Fine, but only one this time."