Chapter Text
Their first encounter wasn’t exactly smooth.
“‘Bout time, Doc,” Sarge said, as the Fed medic ran the scanner over him. “We’ve been waiting forever!” He indicated Donut, who was still holding his head gingerly. “We haven’t gotten properly looked at yet, and he took a grenade to his head again.”
“Sorry, but I’m just a medic,” the medic said. “Doctor Grey is busy with your friend.”
“Well, then, you can at least give us something for the pain,” Sarge ordered. “Well, him. I’m feeling fine!” he all but shouted, then cringed and grabbed his ribs.
“Actually, I only have orders to confirm the diagnosis made out in the field,” the medic said, now scanning Donut. “Doctor Grey wants to personally treat each of you.”
“Why, you…” Sarge growled. The medic ignored him, nodding to himself as he walked away. “Dirt bag!” he yelled at his back. “All you Feds are dirt bags!” He suppressed a groan at the pain from his ribs. He didn’t know who this Doctor Grey was, but one of his boys was hurting, so this doctor was going to pay. A fact that he reiterated at a much quieter volume when the same medic came back to work on them. And to the guards that led them to their cell. And to Donut as he nodded off from the pain killers.
And to the guards that wheeled Wash in later. “What did you dirt bags do to him?” Sarge demanded as they gently laid Wash down on his stomach on the other cot, making sure his helmetless head was tilted so his face wasn’t smothered in the pillow, but the implants were as high as possible.
“Oh, just put all the pretty wires back in his head, and drained the blood off his brain,” the nurse who followed them in said in a cheery voice. She was swinging Wash’s helmet in her hand. “Locus did quite the number on him. It was touch and go, but he’s back with us now, and should be awake in a little bit.”
Sarge glared at her, forgetting she couldn’t see him. “How do I know you people didn’t stick some sort of mind control device in there? Or a bomb, so the moment we try to escape, you can blow his head off?”
“Escape? Why would you need to escape?” the nurse asked, clearly puzzled despite the fact that they were in a damn prison cell. She tilted her head quizzically at him “Mind control, hmm. That could be an interesting experiment…” Sarge blinked. What in the Sam Hill was she talking about? He had to suppress the sudden need to ask her how she would conduct such an experiment. In case, you know, the Blues ever turned on them again. Of course.
She suddenly shook her head. “Anyway, make sure when he wakes up that he’s alert and showing no signs of bleeding.”
“I’ve been around a few head wounds,” Sarge said. “I know the drill.”
“Excellent!” the nurse exclaimed, suddenly getting very much in his personal space. “You must be Sarge, then. I’ve read your file, you have some very interesting credits to your name,” she said, shoving the helmet into his chest so he had to grab it. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands. Call me if he’s showing any adverse reactions.”
“And who, little lady, am I calling?” Sarge asked, hiding the pleased feeling that someone here recognized his greatness.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” she said. “I’m Doctor Emily Grey, and I run the medical facility here. Sorry about earlier, but I was up to my wrists in Agent Washington’s head, and these medics just can’t seem to do a thing without me.” She shook her head. “Well, its always nice to be needed!” She took a bouncy step toward the door. “I hope I don’t see you until after your meeting!” she said, waving as she disappeared down the hall.
Sarge almost followed her out, until they nearly slammed the door shut on his head. “What are you looking at, dirt bag,” he growled at his guard, who showed further respect by quickly denying he was looking at anyone and taking a spot out of arm's reach, but clearly guarding the cell. He turned and surveyed the younger men currently under his care, questions about this Doctor Grey mixing with concern for Wash and Donut, and curiosity about whatever meeting she was talking about. Followed by concerns that he was concerned with her at all.
It took him several minutes to remember that he hadn’t made her pay for anything.
********
“Just remember, you’re no good to me dead,” Doctor Grey told General Doyle. “Although, I could run experiments on your body.”
Years later, it would be what he considered the first moment Sarge knew he had found his soul mate, and that she did, in fact, have a flesh and blood body.
In that moment, though, soul mate would have been too strong, but she was definitely a kindred spirit. At least, he thought so. Except she was a doctor. And a civilian, maybe? And part of the evil empire? And why was he thinking about this, anyway? Wash was right, none of this made any sense.
And so Sarge stored it in the back of his head, to deal with the more pressing matters of finding his men and getting off this forsaken rock.
Still, when the best option to do that was to stay with the Federal Army of Chorus, he only mostly didn’t like it.
********
“Excuse me,” she said, the most serious Sarge had heard her so far, “if someone tells you to leave them alone, you leave them alone.”
He didn’t know how long Doctor Grey had been standing behind Locus, which told Sarge how focused he was on NOT blowing the big sunovabich’s face off, but the fact that she confronted him, unarmed, and Locus listened? That could possibly have been the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Well, other than CeCe before Grif had messed her up. But it was definitely a solid top five, if his erection was any indication.
“Are you a civilian, Little Lady?” he had to ask, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice. The laughter as she told them EVERYONE was either dead or in armor was morbid, and a little disturbing, if you didn’t catch the edge to it. And the fact that bullet wounds had gotten boring for a doctor made him wonder if she was a little tired. He had to agree on the prosthetic limbs, though. They were so outdated. Now, robotic limbs, that’s where the future was. He was almost so enrapt in the thought of it, he almost missed the part about--
“Shipping off?” he asked, concerned. Obviously, she had little concern for the why, and he couldn’t tell from her voice if it was a lack of actual interest in anything outside of what she could do, or a complete faith in her chain of command. He stared at her as she walked away, trying to figure it out. And just to watch her walk away. He was more than man enough to admit the view, limited as it was, was good.
“So, what do you fellas think?” he asked, storing the puzzle of the doctor away for a later time. If she was right, they’d be back here again, and he could examine it more later. Right now, the new mission mattered more.
“She seems… nice?” Donut managed to nail his confusion about her on the head, but now was not the time.
“We do what we have to do,” Wash said, sounding resigned. They went and found someone to lead them to rooms that didn’t have bars, so they could be shipped out to some other destination first thing in the morning. He was surprised to find himself roommates with Wash. As he lay awake that night, listening to Wash whimper and whisper at whatever demons haunted his dreams, he understood. So he settled in to be up most of the night, wondering what they had gotten themselves into, and where his other boys were. Despite his complaints about Grif, Sarge was worried about both him and Simmons. They need to end this war and get away from this place. That was all that mattered. Not some peppy little doctor with a spine of steel and very interesting potential experiments.
And now he was thinking about her again. Damnit.