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Lopez was used to communication issues. It was one of the most frustrating and unavoidable aspects of his life, since he lived with idiots who refused to learn to speak Spanish, and he was stuck being unable to communicate in any other language, due to his creator’s incompetency. Over time, he just learned not to care, and that tended to be the end of it.
Grif and Simmons, out on the warthog again as they wasted their day bickering as usual, came through clearly on the radio. Lopez sat in his garage, polishing off the guns, mindlessly listening in. His life was the epitome of boredom.
“But what was all that about wanting to have sex with the mountain?”
“That – that’s just a silly interview! It has nothing to do with –”
“Of course it does. It’s not like your stupid science show exists in a vacuum.”
“It SHOULD! The more you talk about creator intentions the more you lose the whole excitement of the thing.”
“You lost me at ‘creator.’”
“Maybe if you stayed awake for more than five minutes you wouldn’t be clueless as shit.”
“I like being clueless. It means people expect less from me.”
“Well, congratulations, you’re a huge fucking disappointment and I hate you.”
“Aww, I hate you too.”
“Yeah, and – fuck!”
Lopez stilled at the sound of an explosion leading to static on the radio. He tapped into the comms. “[What was that.]” Nothing but static. Lopez placed the wrench back on the workbench and started moving toward the base’s exit. “[Private Simmons, respond.]” Not a single sound was made.
Once outside, he spotted Sarge standing watch atop the base. “Lopez! Didja fix the television yet?”
“[Not even remotely. Something is wrong. Grif and Simmons are in danger.]”
“Fantastic work, Lopez! I can hear the static in my ears already…”
“[That would be the sound of two members of Red team dying.]”
Lopez didn’t know why he’d tried.
For some reason, he decided to try and drag Donut along instead. He knocked urgently and consistently on the door, ignoring the, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”, until the blonde opened the door with a pout. “You really don’t wait, do you?”
“[We have to go. The orange and maroon might be dead.]”
“What?! Grif and Simmons finally got together?! Without me?!”
“[No, you idiot. Just go to the car.]” Lopez started pushing Donut down the hall toward the other working warthog, until finally the pink soldier seemed to realize what he was supposed to do.
“Oh, boy, are we going on a trip?”
“[Yes.]”
“Ooh! Sarge, do you want to come with us? Lopez and I are riding off into the sunset together!”
Sarge squinted down at them with a frown. “Negatory. A Red has to stand guard no matter what! Darn Grif slacking off again… Lopez, remember to clean up any fuel or fluids before you park it.”
“Oh, I can take care of that!” Donut said cheerfully, hopping into the passenger side. Lopez jumped into the driver’s seat and got the warthog running to take off as soon as possible.
***
It wasn't too hard pinpointing their location, since their armor was still active and he'd placed a tracker on each of them. (It helped to know how much time he had before the idiots came back to destroy the base, or worse, the warthog he'd just fixed.) But getting there in time was another question. If asked, Lopez would deny that he could feel panic, or that it was seeping through him as they drove.
When they arrived, it was about as bad as he'd expected.
“Oh my stars! Simmons! Grif!” Donut leapt off the car and started racing toward the smoky armor lying on the ground. Lopez slowed the vehicle to a careful stop, then followed at a brisk pace, analyzing the scene as best he could. The warthog was in flames, and had their bodies still been inside, he wasn’t sure how salvageable they would have been. But they weren’t inside – both bodies had been dragged a distance away. Grif was lying on top, so Lopez presumed he had been the one to drag them out of harm’s way. That pointed to life, at the very least, but neither of them had stirred from Donut’s yell, so this needed further examination.
Donut pushed Grif off of Simmons, flipped him over on his back, and removed his helmet. Lopez looked down at Simmons first; analyzing a cyborg’s circuitry was more of his thing. Luckily, nothing notable seemed to be out of order. Some of his systems had shut down, but only those which involved his consciousness. It seemed that Simmons’ human parts were functioning – his chest was rising and falling, and he did retain a pulse. Donut confirmed that Grif had one as well. Lopez didn’t know if there was any other physical damage to Simmons’ body underneath, though the armor over his right arm was dented and likely meant his arm inside was damaged, too. The impact must have caused him to faint, or something else on a psychological level, but there was no head trauma and no major bleeding; he would be fine.
Lopez glanced over at Donut, who was tracing his fingers over a deep cut in Grif’s forehead. Blood continued to trickle from the wound. “[How is that idiot.]”
Donut bit his lip and blinked up at him with teary eyes. “Oh, this is terrible! What do you think happened to them? Were they attacked?”
Good question. He thought they were alone, but apparently not that alone. There was no sign of anything nearby that they might have crashed into, and he was sure the warthog had left that morning in perfect condition – it hadn’t broken down on its own.
Lopez scanned the horizon, but there was nowhere within firing distance that could provide cover, for either them or an enemy. Still, it was better not to wait. They needed to move quickly to conduct repairs. It was time to get his idiots back home.
***
“Ah, there’s the second car! Where’d you knuckleheads leave the other–” Sarge’s voice cut off as Lopez pulled up the car beside them. He stared at the backseat, where two smoky sets of armor were lying motionless, both helmets removed. “Ah, nuts.”
“Sir!” Donut cried out. “Grif and Simmons – they’re hurt!”
“Way to state the obvious, private,” Sarge grumbled. “Lopez, bring the car ‘round to the door, and get Simmons inside.” Lopez complied, driving the car around to the front, turning it so Simmons’ door was easily accessible. Donut peeled off Simmons’ armor so they could more easily lift him. Lopez then climbed out and helped him lift the cyborg out of the vehicle. Sarge frowned at the burns going down Simmons’ arms, darkening where the skin met metal. That couldn’t have been pleasant.
“Sir, Grif’s –”
“Simmons first, ya hear?” A low whimper broke through the air. Sarge turned back to the vehicle with a raised eyebrow. “Lopez, status report?”
“[The orange one awakens. Which you can hear. Moron.]”
“What… I… Ow…”
“Grif! Explain yourself!”
“What the fuck is going on?” Grif gently pressed a finger against the wound on his forehead, then winced. “Oh no.”
“We found you after you went down on Simmons!” Donut cried, making everyone cringe.
“What?!” Grif shrieked.
“And you crashed the jeep again?!”
Grif blinked. “Oh. Oh, right. Wait, Simmons?!” He looked down at his cyborg teammate and jostled his shoulder. “Simmons!”
“I can't believe this. Grif, you've completely and utterly failed. You're the one who's supposed to die on the job!”
“Simmons – he's not gonna die, right?!” Panic swirled in Grif's eyes, and Lopez would have laughed if he could. Those idiots were sickeningly infatuated with one another, but he was confident neither of them would ever acknowledge their feelings, notice the other’s feelings, or act on those feelings. They were just that stupid.
“Nah, he'll be fine,” Sarge replied, and Grif sighed in relief. “No thanks to you!”
Grif looked offended. “Hey, it is so thanks to me. I'm the reason he isn't burning in that rubble right now.”
“And whose fault is it that you crashed?”
“The guys who shot us, took our food, and left,” Grif replied. It took a second, but realization sunk in and devastation consumed him. “My tastycakes… My doritos… All gone…”
“[I think you should worry more about Simmons than your lost food,]” Lopez pointed out.
“You're right, Lopez! He is being a big fat baby right now! And I've got no time for big fat babies! Shoo! I have to fix the only good soldier I have left around here!”
“I’m still here, sir!” Donut announced.
“I know!” Sarge replied.
“Why am I feeling lightheaded?” Grif wondered aloud. His eyes looked foggy. “I think I'm gonna pass out.”
“Have fun,” Sarge replied, turning his back on him just as Grif collapsed to the ground.
“[He's suffering from blood loss,]” Lopez told him.
“I know, Lopez. It's a beautiful sight. But one I have to ignore for now!”
Lopez cursed these idiots as he struggled to push Grif to a sitting position and enlisted Donut's help in moving him to his bedroom.
***
“Okay, but isn’t Palpatine’s whole thing that he’s an evil manipulator? What’s so wrong with bringing him back?”
“Oh my god. There’s so much wrong with it, you don’t even know.”
Listening to the idiots bicker over the radio channel again while he worked on fixing yet another warthog they’d ruined. Lopez’s life really was dull.
He let the sound wash over him, the volume button right there, but it was too much effort to turn it down. He’d just suffer through their idiocy like always.