"Okay, so press the um… I think it's the first pedal." Washington guessed pointing down into the floor board. "On the left I mean. Or is it my left and your right?..."

The young lieutenant cocked her head at him.

"No offense Agent Washington, but can you actually drive a car?" Jensen asked.

"I drive on impulse when I have to, because I hate cars." Wash defended.

"This is a jeep." She noted.

"Whatever, I'm not exactly the best teacher."

"Also, how are we going to drive without the keys?"

Washington sighed. He hated cars. With a passion, he hated cars. In fact, since meeting the Reds and Blues he was relieved as he always had someone willing to take the wheel. He could drive, make no mistake, but teaching others was a different story. In a moment of insanity, Wash made a bold suggestion.

"Here, I have an idea. Let's go get Grif."

"Why?"

That was a good question. Wash tried to think up something nice to say to keep Jensen from prying at his lack of skill. He had something for a moment about Grif being the best driver, but when memory remind him that crashing was more the captain's specialty it came out as,

"Grif does all the driving for the Reds. Surprisingly, it's one of the few things he's good for." He then added quickly, "Come on, let's go find him."

Jensen continued to stare like a deer in the headlights.

"We still need keys, Sir."

Wash hung his head shamefully.

"Right..."

[Play transition music (you know the old west guitar tune) and change location.]

"Hey Grif, I need a favor!" Wash called up the face of a rocky cliff.

When no answer came he turned to Jensen.

"Bitters said he was here? You're positive?"

Jensen nodded.

"Bitters said every day he comes here to smoke."

"Wait, smoking? Grif, God dammit! You know Gray told you that you're not supposed to have cigarettes after your shitty health exam! Those are transplanted lungs, not garbage cans!"

Grif shouted back at him.

"Hey, I'm probably just going to get them replace again! I'm going to make the most out of them!"

The soldier came into view, clamping down his helmet and tossing away a cigarette bud. Jensen sighed with disappointment. She never got to see the captains without their helmets and it seemed today would be no different.

"Knock it off, now." Wash growled. "Now come on. You have a lieutenant in need of a driving lesson."

"Jensen already knows how to drive." Grif paused as he remembered several instances that proved him wrong. "Well, she gets the gist of it."

"Let me rephrase that. Get your fat ass down here or I will tell Gray you were smoking, and she will ground you and remove your lungs."

"Would she do that?" Jensen whispered.

"I'd rather not find out." Wash returned quietly. "Honestly, I'm surprised you not asking about the transplant."

"I'd rather not find out." Jensen repeated back to him softly.

"Fine! Kid, in the jeep, now. Agent Ass-Wipe take gunner."

"Wait you want me driving?!" Jensen blurted in alarm.

"Yes, you. Now get in before I change my mind." Grif commanded as he descended the the narrow path.

"Oh, okay…"

Jensen got in the Warthog followed by Grif. She strapped herself in and then turned to see the orange captain relaxed in the passenger seat.

"Aren't you going to buckle up, Captain Grif?" Jensen inquired nervously.

"I'll be fine. But this is just a practice run, so don't take it over sixty."

"Okay..." Jensen quivered as she started the Warthog.

Grif could feel Jensen shaking. Heck, she made the turrent rattle. Her nerves were so much like Simmons', she could be his daughter. Or more like a sister, Grif decided. With his award winning personality and inability to talk to girls, there was zero percent chance of him getting any action.

"Just take it easy, back up and turned the jeep towards the base." Grif assured. "Half way I'll switch and take us home."

He would come to regret that. Though, Grif regretted getting in the car from the start. After ten minutes of stopping and starting, nearly hitting boulders, and mistaking drive for reverse, Grif seriously considered shooting Washington for bringing this hell upon him.

"Here," Grif suggested, "Let's turn on something. If it doesn't calm you down at least it will drown out Wash's screaming."

"Hey, let's get moving." Wash snapped.

Grif flipped on the famous Red Team Tejano music and waved his hand to signal Jensen to move out. The maroon lieutenant back up slowly and pulled back on to the path. After a few bars she stopped shaking. Jensen allowed herself to smile as she straightened out and got on the path back to the base. The orange captain even nodded in approval when Jensen looked his way. It was perfect. Key word: was.

It didn't take Wash long to remember how much he had grown to hate Grif. More than anything he remember how much he hated his taste in music. With his head pounding like a drum, Washington swore the music was going to stop or he would shoot the radio out.

He barked at Jensen coldly. "God, will you turn off that stupid music? And get up to an actual speed, Lieutenant."

"Sorry." Jensen whimpered, shutting off the radio. Her brain became scattered as her nerves returned. "Um… Sir, how do I accelerate?"

Grif laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and explained, "This is the same as a tank, press pedal three down slowly. Be gentle, these things can jump speeds quickly when you're not careful." He glared back at Washington "And by the way, you're driving so you pick the music."

Grif switched back on the radio and the music instantly returned, suddenly louder than before. Startled by the accordion, Jensen slammed on four of the pedals.

Jerking to the side, the jeep smashing into a rock wall. Grif groaned as he push himself off the dash and back into his seat. Only a mix of instinct and dumb luck had kept him from hitting the windshield, but the warthog was not so lucky. Damage was minimal, but noticeable, and though still driveable Jensen was not likely to hear the end of it when she had to turn the warthog over to the mechanics. The radio added to her injury as it whirled and sputtered before falling into silence.

"Not as gentle as I would have hoped." Grif half-laughed as he straightened up. "You okay Kid?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think we dropped Agent Washington." Jensen admitted meekly.

"Damn right you dropped me!" Wash spat as he grabbed the lieutenant by the collar and pulled her out of the driver's seat. "Grif switch, Jensen is too much of a hazard to have driving."

Grif was already out of the car, and when Wash turned he found the orange clad captain a few inches from his face. He looked ready to rip his throat out.

"Put. Jensen. Down." He snarled

Wash released the lieutenant and allowed her to scuttle away. He seemed angry, but surely Grif could see past his act. Anger and fear were the best motivators, and Jesen needed a lot of motivation. However, act or not, Wash could not drop it – not without Jensen running to all of her friends to tell them that the great Agent Washington was spineless on top of being a useless driver. So he stared Grif down, intent on sorting out any misunderstandings later.

"Is there a problem, Captain Grif?" He rumbled.

He tried to size himself up, but Grif was taller, if only by a few inches, and had sixty pounds on him easily. Wash was sure if this turned into a fist fight he could win, but what worried him was that the last time he had seen the lethargic sim trooper so aggressive Grif was running his sorry ass down with a car. Honestly, the idea of a repeat incident still frightened the mighty freelancer.

"Plenty, but we'll talk this out back at camp." Grif growled. "Get in the back."

A glance sent Jensen scurrying into the passenger's seat, and Wash didn't argue either. Without another word, Grif climbed into the driver's seat. As he heard Jensen sniffling his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Something about the sound brought back memories – memories of high school and of Kaikaina. Her voice still rang in the back of his mind.

I just want to go home.

"Sir, can we go?" Jensen sniffled after a moment of waiting. "I really want to go home."

"Is this heap still going to make it back, Grif?" Wash asked, noting his tension.

Grif gave no answer. The leather crinkled beneath the Captain's bone-crushing grip.

"Grif, let's go." Wash repeated before adding, "Unless you want to miss dinner."

Grif spoke softly, his voice flat with annoyance. "Well, we wouldn't want to miss that."

"Sir," Jensen sniffled, suppressing her sadness for a moment. "Are you okay?"

"Jensen, buckle up." Grif growled slowly. "Right now."

The maroon lieutenant curled in on herself timidly.

"Sir?"

"Just sit up straight for me, head pressed against the seat. We'll talk once we're back." Grif ordered.

Catching onto his boiling rage, Jensen did as she commanded.

"Yes, Sir." Jensen whimpered in obedience.

"Grif, do I have to drive or are you going to"

Grif revved the engine loudly, cutting Washington off. A wave of sickness rushed through the two passengers. Their fear were soon confirmed as the Warthog tore the ground and took off at sixty miles an hour, the speed quickly climbing higher.

Humming a tune, Grif punched the radio on and switched the channel to a new song. He cranked up the sound of guitars shredding the sound waves.

"Ah I love this song! Let's take the long way home!" Grif yelled, smashing his foot down on the gas.

Wash screamed as his feet were ripped out from under him, and he was left hanging on the turret handles.

Grif tossed the gray freelancer around like a rag doll. Jumping hills and making turns at top speed, Agent Washington lost his grip several times only to be thrown into the gun, the bumper and at one point the hood car before Grif stood up and threw him back into his spot.

Seeing the base coming up over the hill, Grif switched off the radio. Soldiers ran for cover, screaming just as loud as Jensen and Washington as they dove to safety. Grif kept his foot glued to the accelerator.

"Now Jensen pay close attention. I'm about to teach you a very special technique called the Barrel Roll." Grif shouted over the mixture of engine and screaming.

"The Barrel Roll?!" Jensen screamed.

"Oh for the love of God, no!" Wash cried, hanging on to the turret like a frightened cat. "Grif, stop now! This has gone far enough!"

"That's what this technique is for!" Grif yelled back. "Now Jensen, first thing you're going to do in slam on petals four, five, and six, then jerk the wheel. Also never for get to throw your weight into it, and passengers should place their heads between their knees."

"Grif! Ple-eee-aasee! For all that is beautiful!" Wash cried. "We're coming up on the garage!"

"Here we go!"

Without warning Grif slammed on the breaks and flipped the Warthog. The passengers screamed as they twisted through the air and came smashing down. The jeep landed perfectly in its spot between two others, equally spaced apart from both. Jensen and Washington continued to scream for a moment after Grif cut the engine.

"You're not dead! You can stop now!" Grif shouted at the two of them.

The two stopped screaming and Grif nodded his head as he uttered "Better," before unbuckling his seat belt.

"Jensen, you just sit tight, okay? I'll be right back." Grif said calmly as Jensen sat there petrified and trying not to hyperventilate.

Grif waltzed around Washington as he staggered out of the warthog and collapsed a few feet away. He tried to force him helmet up, but the snug gear only came up as far as his nose before the freelancer then proceeded to puke his guts out. The captain shook his head in disappointment.

"I told you to duck your head. Next time you'll listen." Grif sang.

Grabbing the dazed soldier by the front of his armor, Grif pulled him from the dirt held him at eye leave.

"Let's sum up your lesson for today, Agent Washington. The driver picks the music, they pick the speed, the route, and whatever. fucking. else. they. want." Grif articulated. "So next time Jensen is driving, you are going to shut your mouth, and let her drive. If you don't, I am going to take the wheel, drop her off, and I will teach you the many other crash-landing techniques I know. Clear?"

Wash breathed hoarsely, bile burning his throat. "You're insane."

Grif released him. Washington toppled down on to his hands and knees. Nausea overcame him once again as Grif tolled proudly.

"And don't forget it."

Grif marched back up the car. Jensen was crying her eyes out inside her helmet.

"Hey, hey, now. Deep breaths." Grif encouraged. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Come on, I'll take you to Dr. Gray. She'll fix you right up and get you something for your stomach."

"No. I'm fine. Really." Jensen whimpered. "You're driving was badass, Captain Grif."

"Thank you Lieutenant." Grif returned. "Now come on, tell me what's wrong."

"It's just… No one has ever stood up for me like that." Jensen sniffled. "Th-th-thank you."

"Hey don't mention it. Maybe it's the older brother in me, but sometimes I can be a little soft." Grif looked over his shoulder to see Kimball storming over. "Now go run. I'm about to get my ass kicked and I don't want you to watch."

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry Sir." Jensen said, hopping out of the Warthog.

Jensen didn't need to be told twice. Kimball was on Grif with the fury of a hurricane. By the time she was close enough to jab her finger into Grif's chest plate, Katie was long gone.

"Are you fucking insane?!" She roared. "You could have killed someone!"

"I didn't." Grif countered, digging his grave deeper.

"You nearly destroyed one of the few functioning vehicles Chorus has!"

"These things are heavy duty. Watch, tomorrow it'll purr like a puma."

"What if one of the rookies try that?"

Grif turned to the small crowd that had gathered.

"Kids, do not try this at home. Agent Washington will shit his pants."

"I am going to kill you slowly." Kimball snarled.

"You're not going to kill him."

"Shit." Grif cursed as he finally realized the trouble he was in.

Grif felt his awesomeness fade as Carolina broke the lines of soldiers. She was not happy.

"I'm going to kill him."

The crowd gasped and let out a collective "Ooooooooh!"

"And unless anyone wants to run laps around the compound, I suggest the rest of you dismiss." Venessa added, flexing her authority.

The crowd vanished almost instantaneously.

Grif muttered to himself, "Bitches."

Carolina paused as she passed Kimball, cracking her knuckles.

"Try not to put him in a coma."

"Oh no," She agreed,"that would be kind."

[Play sadder transition music.]

Tucker stared down at the freelancer pathetically curled up on the floor. How was he ever afraid of this guy? If Tucker had even the smallest amount of respect for him before, it was gone now.

"If you're going to pass out at least get in bed." Tucker mocked.

"If I move, I'm going to be sick again." Wash managed, his throat still burning from his gab session with the toilet.

The freelancer pushed himself up to the elbows and manage to drag himself out of the bathroom before rolling on to his back. If there was anything left to come up, Wash was more than content to choke on it. The only thing that kept Wash from putting himself out of this misery was his inability to lift his gun to his battered skull.

"Well it serves you right. Jensen said you were being a total dick." Tucker criticized. "Grif was guaranteed to kick your ass just as Carolina was going to kick his ass when he got back from kicking your ass."

"Please stop shouting." Wash begged, holding his throbbing head.

Tucker spoke louder and slowly. "Nut up Wash and go apologize."

"In a minute."

Tucker's gaze narrowed.

"Let me rephrase, you should get the hell out of here before Grif wakes up." The teal soldier boomed. "Because If Katie gets to him – which she already has flowers and is on her way – and she's still sad. He's going to pull himself out of bed and strap you to the front of a Warthog." Tucker stooped down to Washington's level, or at least closer. "He's a big brother Wash, and you made a young lady cry, and a damn fine one at that." He then mumbled, "Bow chicka bow wow," as respectfully as possible while still maintaining his macho status.

Wash took in deep breaths trying to keep himself from hurling again. He reminded Tucker of a dying fish.

"Jensen isn't Sister. She's not here." He breathed.

Tucker got up and started to walk out. He stopped and without looking offered up one more point before leaving the pathetic mass to his well-deserved anguish.

"And he knows it."

[Short transition riff. (You know you're playing the music in your head, don't lie)]

Griff groaned as he came back into the land of the living. Though, his aching body told him it was better just to stay dead, he forced himself to sit upright. He glanced around the tiled room in confusion.

"Where am I?" Griff groaned.

"The med bay." A familiar voice answered.

Grif rolled his head to the side to see Simmons casually sitting in a chair beside the bed, a book in his hands. Grif tried to smile as he remembered the last time he woke up like this. However, it died as the pain set in and it felt like he had been hit by a tank a second time. Grif bundled up the flat pillow best he could and rolled back on to it. Simmons showed such heart warming sympathy by turning the page.

"What happened?"

Simmons shut his book and without missing a beat turned to his companion and said,

"Carolina kicked you ass for almost getting Wash, Jensen, and yourself killed. Which by the way," Simmons smacked Griff's helmet with his book, sending a shock wave of pain racing through him.

"Ow!" The orange soldier whined.

"Bad Grif, bad." The maroon captain scolded.

"As soon as I can move, I'm going to kill you." Griff threatened.

"By then you'll have lost the will." Simmons argued, reopening his book. "You suck at follow through."

Grif sighed and relaxed against the crap-tastic pillow, "Yeah, I do. I'm just gonna take nap."

Simmons hit him again. This time a tad softer, but with enough tough love to make Grif yelp.

"Don't go to sleep yet Fat Ass. You have visitors."

Grif glanced across the room to see the four lieutenants standing in the hall. Jensen was the first to enter and set a bouquet of oddly colored lilies on the bedside table.

"Sir…" She began softly. "I'm really sorry Agent Carolina tried to kill you for what I did."

Grif rolled his eyes as Katie stammered and whimpered, unable to remember half of her original apology speech. Grif cut her off before she could make herself cry.

"Cut that crap." Grif rumbled as he tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position. "You didn't do anything wrong. Washington was being an asshole."

"And if I must say, your techniques were effective, Captain Grif." Andersmith told him. "Agent Washington apologized to Katie publicly."

"We have it on tape." Palomo added. "Along with Agent Carolina chewing you out and beating in your skull, and you're driving. Which, most badass thing I've seen in years, by the way."

"Which part?" Simmons questioned with a passive curiosity.

"All of it." Palomo beamed. "Today was a good day."

Bitters pushed his way into the middle.

"Which, what the fuck?" He grumbled. "I'm you're lieutenant, why does Jensen get a front row to watching you mangle someone?"

"Because she's a girl, Dude." Palomo scoffed. "Girl's get cool stuff all the time."

Smith defended his friend instantly. "Don't be sexiest. It was pure circumstance."

"She was first because she was first," Grif agreed. "Deal with it."

"Well can I get second?" Bitter blurted.

"I call third!" Mathew shouted from out in the hall.

"I don't think you'll be doing that for a while." Washington's voice echoed from across the room.

The room became awkwardly silent as the form of the infamous freelancer darkened the doorway. Palomo started whistling to fill the void.

"Come on, let's give them a moment." Simmons said pushing them out of the room.

"Don't need to tell us twice." Bitters agreed, Palomo adding a "Ditto," as they hustled out.

Smith held the door politely.

"Jensen after you." He tipped an imaginary hat to the others. "Captain, Agent, good to see you as always."

"Thanks Captain Grif. Get well soon." Jensen said over her shoulder as Simmons hurried the group out. Wash watched over his shoulder until the door was shut. He then gave a few extra moments for rats to evacuate the sinking ship. When he turned back Grif was glaring at him. He was still in bed, which was a good sign, but chances were that standing was just as painful for him as if was for Washington. The agent coughed anxiously. The awkwardness hanging in the air did not dissipate.

"So… I said some things. You said some things. We both got a few bruises." He then corrected, looking around the med bay and rubbing the back of his head. "A lot of bruises…. Can we just agree to a truce? I take it easy on Jensen. You don't run me over."

"If you make her, or any of Simmons' girls cry, I will tie you to the bumper and drive from Alpha to Bravo." Grif promised.

"And I will just make a note of that and call it a day." Wash squeaked. "But before I go, here... I got a tip that, well that you might accept a peace offering."

Wash set a framed picture down on the table beside the flowers. In the picture, Kaikaina was standing in front of blue base. She looked angry and sassy like she was telling someone off, but at the same time the classiest she could ever hope to be on a Monday.

"I had some old footage left on my helmet from when I worked recovery." Washington explained.

Grif's form relaxed, if only slightly. His beefy hand wrapped around the cheap picture frame and he brought it closer. Without a word, he laid a hand on the glass and brushed the image with his thumb.

The moment stretched on into eternity before Grif finally asked, "She call you a cop?"

"How'd you"

"Because you acted like a cop back then." Grif interrupted. He huffed and then noted, "Still act like a cop."

"I'm starting to remember why we don't talk a lot." Wash grumbled.

"Then cut the sappy shit and let's get back to ignoring each other." Griff offered. "Now take your truce and get out."
Griff paused to let out a bear-like yawn. "I'm over due for a nap."

Wash sighed. He supposed that was as close as he was going to get when it came to bonding with any of the Reds. And he could live with that.

"Sounds like a plan."