Chapter Text
Four soldiers in four variations of red or blue armor all collapsed onto the floor in one big heap as their CO finally took pity on them, ended their training for the day—twenty five laps more than what their original number had been.
Palomo groaned, rolling over and yanking his helmet off so he could breathe deeply.
“Air...must find...air...world going dark...ugh...”
Bitters moaned, sprawled out spread eagle as he tried to catch his breath, skin red and blotchy from exertion.
“This is...such fucking...bullshit...Washington has spent...even longer with them...than us! He should know Captain Grif doesn't give a fuck...who suffers, so long as he gets out of work! The only ones getting punished is us!”
Smith shook his head, already sitting back up and breathing more evenly than his fellow lieutenants. “I'm sure Captain Grif doesn't mean it! He likely thinks we need the extra training, he's only looking out for--”
“Can it, Smith,” Bitters butt in, still wheezing. “I'll tolerate the pining over your captain, but I won't let you give yourself a stupid fucking obedience boner for my useless sack of shit commander. Asshole doesn't care.”
“We can't keep doing this,” Jensen moaned. “Agent Washington is going to drive us to our deaths!”
“But what can we do?” Palomo groaned. “Captain Grif doesn't give a shit about anything!”
Bitters suddenly sat up, eyes going wide and mouth spreading into a grin as if he had been suddenly struck by the most brilliant plan ever conceived.
“That...might not be true.”
“I mean other than himself,” Palomo ammended.
“I know. That's just it though, I've been in his bunk right? I know about this thing, keeps it hidden, I asked him about it and he kept dodging the questions.”
“Huh?” Jensen asked, propping herself up on her elbows to blink at the sniggering boy.
“There's this ring he keeps in his sock drawer. I dunno what the fuck it is, it's pretty lame. Looks like he bought it at a fucking carnival. But it's in his sock drawer, and he seems to like it. Might be the only thing we can use to blackmail him.”
Smith frowned. “Blackmail? I don't think that's a good idea. It must be important, if he keeps it hidden like that.”
“Exactly!” Palomo said, pushing himself up. “Which means it might actually work! You know where he keeps it, Bitters?”
He nodded, pulling himself to his feet. “Yeah, and since it's lunchtime Grif is probably in the mess hall. We gotta act fast! Come on!”
He turned, walking with a determination the other three had never seen on him outside of battle. Palomo was right behind him, and Smith and Jensen looked at each other before sighing and following suit. He led them into Captain Grif and Captain Simmons's shared bunk, sliding the door shut behind them.
The New Republic wasn't exactly equipped for the lap of luxury bunk rooms, but they'd done their best for their “Heroes”. The Captains had been given the two biggest rooms they had, though in Grif and Simmons' it was hard to tell for the clutter. One bed was unmade, the other so immaculate it looked like it hadn't even been slept in at all, orange clothes were tossed over the floor, and Jensen grumbled about why he had a dresser at all, a privilege no one under the rank of Captain had, if he didn't even use it.
Bitters waved her off, pulling open the top drawer of said dresser and rummaging through a cluster of badly folded socks and underwear before crying out in success and pulling out the ring.
It really did look like a carnival trinket; some silver colored metal that the cheap polish had long since worn off of and a plastic ruby, looking like it only might fit on Grif's pinky. Bitters held it up like one would some great treasure, grinning devilishly. Palomo eyed it, looking doubtful now.
“That's it? Dude, he could probably replace it for like, a quarter.”
“Yeah, but there's gotta be some reason he keeps it all tucked up in a sock. It's worth a shot, it might be our only chance to stop having to run fifty fucking laps thanks to his selfish ass.”
“It has to have some sentimental value to him,” Smith said. “And I don't believe this is a good idea.”
Bitters waved him off. “We'll give it back! Just as soon as he promises to go to fucking training.”
Palomo grinned again, nodding. “Yeah! And then Washington will stop picking on us and the Captain will get his ring back and everyone will be happy!”
“Well then we'd better hurry up!” Jensen said, glancing back at the door. “Lunch will be over soon and Captain Grif will be back!”
The four jumped back into action, Smith slamming the forgotten drawer closed and jogging behind the other three as they ran out of the room.
“How long should we wait?” Palomo asked, already panting from exerting himself again.
“No more than an hour,” Smith said. “I want this to be over with as soon as possible.”
With a nod, the other three agreed, and made their way to the mess hall to try and get a last minute bite of lunch.
---
One hour later, the four lieutenants gathered outside of Grif's bunk, two grinning at each other and two just glad that they could get this whole thing over with. Bitters was again grinning wider than just about anyone ever saw him grin, patting his pocket with the ring again. With a flourish he pushed the door open.
“Capta--”
He broke off mid-word, eyes going wide.
The room was an absolute wreck, even more than an hour ago. Both beds had been completely stripped of their sheets, the blankets bundled in one big ball by the door. The dresser drawers had actually been removed, contents dumped out in mounds which Dexter Grif could now be seen digging through with a gusto and desperation that no one had even seen him eat with. His face was pale and stricken with a look of sheer panic, and he only glanced up at them for a fraction of a second before turning his attention back to the destruction of his room.
“I'm busy!”
Bitters shook his head, clearing his throat as he tried again. “Captain, we--”
“Not now, dammit Bitters!”
But sir, we--”
Grif snarled, jerking up and storming over to the door.
“I said. Not. Now!”
He slammed his hand into the lock pad inside, the door slamming shut and locking with a click. The four soldiers stared, dumbfounded at the sudden out-of-character aggression.
“Wh...what...” Jensen stammered out.
Behind them, there was an almost giddy chuckle, and they turned around to see Red Team's Colonel Sargent grinning unabashedly at the door.
“Beautiful, isn't it? Haven't seen him this upset since Simmons hid the Oreos to try to blackmail him into work! I dunno who took what this time, but I'd love to give them a pat on the old back!”
The four blinked as comprehension dawned, Smith and Jensen again shifting uncomfortably while Palomo just huffed.
“It was us, we were gonna give it back if he promised to come to training, but he wouldn't even let us get a damn word in before locking us out.”
“You?!” Sarge laughed. “Oh glory be, what was it?! His secret stash of snack-cakes? His extra Oreo boxes?! His blankie?!”
Bitters dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring.
“This stupid carnival ring.”
They looked back up, waiting for Sarge to laugh again.
But the man wasn't grinning anymore, eyes going wide.
“...Oh you fucking idiots.”
Bitters yelled. “Hey, who are you calling idiots? Ten seconds ago you were saying you wanted to pat us on the back!”
“I thought it would be funny!” he snarled. “I didn't think you were that stupid, and now you've gone and ruined it for me too! If you think he's pissed at you, just you wait until Simmons finds out. I hope you like working under a man who's gonna be out for your damn blood!”
“What are you talking about?!” Palomo snapped, trying not to look nervous. “It's just a toy! We can get him a newer one for less than a dollar!”
“You really think that's all it is, you morons?! You think he'd keep a toy ring hidden in his socks if it wasn't more important?!”
“What is it then? What does Captain Simmons have to do with it?” Jensen asked nervously, feeling her gut start to sink.
Sarge shook his head.
“He gave it to him! You really think we have the means to get a decent ring? That's all he could get!”
“Captain Simmons gave it to him?!” Jensen squeaked.
“Of course he did! That's what you do when you propose!” Sarge snarled. “It's his fucking wedding ring!”