Chapter Text
Bishop was wearing orange.
It was a loose dress shirt, casual and comfortable looking. Ozzie wouldn’t have noticed it usually, but the garment fully covered Bishop’s entire torso which was what caught his attention. The muscle shirt was his typical choice of wear. He had dozens. Ozzie was fairly certain he ripped them up himself. He always thought he smelled something podunk about him, but asking Bishop where he was from always got the same answer: “If I told you…..Well, you know the rest.”
“New digs?” Ozzie leaned back against the table, picking up Bishop’s sunglasses to try them on.
“Temporary. Put those down.”
“Don’t bother him, Ozzie.” Shadow said. He was polishing his own knife. It seemed he was always doing that.
“I’m being pleasant. I’m making conversation.” Ozzie shot back.
“Well, unmake it. I’m busy.” Bishop said.
Ozzie tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt. This didn’t seem fair. He was bored, though he knew better than to admit it out loud. For once he wasn’t being shot at, knocked around, or just generally pissed off and there was nothing going on. Bishop wasn’t wearing his face coverings. He wasn’t actually busy. Ozzie didn’t take the shades off. It was so damn dark behind them he was surprised Bishop could see anything half the time.
“That Ibex’s?” he nodded to the orange shirt. It was a size or two larger that Bishop normally wore. “Where is that guy anyway?”
“He’s also busy. I borrowed it.”
“Stole it.” Shadow muttered, sheathing his blade and sitting back with his arms folded.
“Borrowed.” Bishop corrected.
Ozzie grinned, a hint of something interesting was breaking the surface of boredom. Ibex hated it when people took his things. Bishop had once borrowed his pen without asking and got smacked upside the head so hard his shades flew off. Neither Shadow or Ozzie let him forget that for a while. Clever as he could be, lessons tended not to stick to Bishop when it came to Ibex.
“You two have been joined at the hip for so damn long you think you can just do whatever the fuck you want and he won't pound you, huh?” Shadow said.
“Don’t piss me off.” Bishop said, he’d been cleaning his rifle, but there was a tenseness to the motions now. “He won’t miss it.”
Ozzie leaned over, sliding the sunglasses down his nose to give Bishop his best eye-brow bounce. “You scared he’s gonna be mad?”
Bishop took the sunglasses off Ozzie’s face so quickly that Ozzie didn’t even see it. “I’m not scared of Ibex.” he scoffed. Ozzie didn’t believe him.
“You’re gonna get in trouble.” Ozzie crooned the last word with childish glee.
“Fuck off, I’m not-”
The door knob rattled.
Bishop’s reflexes were something Ozzie constantly forgot about. If he’d kept it in mind, he wouldn’t have gotten so close. Bishop’s hand darted out and grabbed the collar of Ozzie’s sweatshirt, tugging it hard. It almost went over Ozzie’s head, though his flailing arms stopped it. He barely got a protest halfway out of his mouth before Bishop slammed his knee into his gut. It wasn’t hard enough to do serious damage, just enough to knock the breath out of him. The protest was cut short.
Bishop tugged at the shirt again, and Ozzie felt Shadow grab him by the belt, pulling him in the opposite direction. Fucking traitor. But before Ozzie could decide which to be angrier about, the treachery or the outright violent theft of his clothes, Bishop had dragged the sweatshirt off of him and tugged it on over the orange dress shirt, concealing it entirely.
He sat down like nothing had happened, just as the door opened.
Ibex stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes flicking to each of them, before settling on Bishop. He leaned against the door frame, mouth set in a hard line.
“Where’s my shirt, Bishop?”
Bishop allowed the question to hang in the air for a moment while he pretended to come out of whatever focused fog he was typically in. “Which one?”
“Orange, three buttons at the top. Brown stitching on the sleeves.”
Bishop glanced at Ozzie and Shadow. “You guys seen it?”
It was a very sharp question. Ozzie could feel the tip of it pressed against his throat. He also felt Shadow’s boot over his hand, pressing hard and threatening.
“Nope.” They said at the same time.
Ibex hadn’t taken his eyes off Bishop since the door opened. Ozzie had seen that look hundreds of times whenever they were in the field. Those eyes had quite the skill for honing in on suspicious things. The door frame creaked as he leaned in a little, unblinking.
“Bishop.” He said. “On my soul, if I find out you took it…..” the threat hung between them, heavy and intense. Ozzie had fallen to the ground in the struggle, and it didn’t seem low enough to escape the pressure of Ibex's tone.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Bishop shrugged with a well practiced eye-roll. “If it turns up, I’ll put it with your stuff.”
Ibex watched him for a second more. It felt like the longest second in the world, but to his credit, Bishop didn’t so much as even shiver under the stare. Ibex stepped back, allowing the door to swing shut. Bishop sat very, very still. Ozzie listened to the sound of footsteps getting further away.
“I’m not scared of Ibex.” Shadow mocked.
“God damn it.” Bishop whispered, ignoring Shadow. He slipped his arms into the sweatshirt and squirmed around until he shimmied out of Ibex’s shirt and tugged it out of the collar. “I need to go put this somewhere it would seem possible he forgot to check.”
“Can I get my shirt back?” Ozzie asked, still on the ground.
“No.” Bishop said, stuffing Ibex’s shirt into his backpack. “What the hell would I wear then?”
“One of your own, you thieving jack-ass!” Ozzie spat. “HEY IBEX-!”
The rest of the words flew out of Ozzie in a pained grunt as Bishop dove over the table and landed knees first on his chest.