Seeing Red ('Cause That's a Lot of Blood)
Shotgun

"So…" Palomo began. "I'm bored. Why bring us on a rescue mission if we aren't doing rescuing?"

"That's no reason to complain." Bitters was slumped over the steering wheel, ready to drive when they were called – something that had not happened so far, despite the echoes of gunshots that they could hear in the distance. "'Least we aren't getting shot."

"But…" Matthews was fiddling with his thumbs. "We aren't really rescuing anybody either."

Bitter raised his head briefly to stare into the canyon bellow them.

"Shouldn't we, I don't know, do something?" Palomo asked with a shrug. "We still have the machine guns…" He patted one of them for emphasis.

"Captain Simmons told us to wait for the signal," Smith replied. His visor was fixated on the valley, checking for any movement. The shelter itself was still out of their sight, but they could sense that something was going on. The tension was filling the air, even from this distance.

"But what is the signal?" Matthews wondered out loud. What followed was seconds of silence as the Lieutenants realized that was a fairly good question.

"Maybe the signal is no signal," Palomo suggested. He then held up his hands, preventing them from immediately calling his theory stupid – something that was bound to happen. "Just follow me here. With no signal, we just have silence. The bad kind of silence. The too silent silence. Which we all know is a signal to be freaked out. So, in fact, no signal is actually a signal. They clearly need our help now."

The others shared glances for a moment. "Palomo, that's a very… well-thought idea but I do believe Captain Simmons is a man that would follow the standard procedure," Smith said but then shifted in discomfort. Things had been quiet for too long. "But-"

"But he might be right," Bitters finished for him before letting out a sigh. "Well, shit."

They all edged closer to the canyon entrance, and another gunshot rang out in the distance. "Could that be the signal?" Matthews suggested, mainly because they all felt inclined to do something now.

"Eh," Bitters said but readied himself in the driver seat anyway. Matthews climbed behind the machine gun, getting into position as well.

"Okay, who votes for that as the signal?" Palomo asked and immediately raised his own hand. Some seconds after, he was able to count four hands in the air. "Great." He swung himself behind the gun. "Uhm, should we have a battle cry or something? Or should we…"

Their radios suddenly flared to life with static before Simmons' voice called out: "We need you to- Oh fucking shit!"

"Actually," Palomo said as they all froze after the alarming message, "I'm gonna revote. I think that was the signal."

"Really?" Bitters snorted before stepping on the speeder. The engine awoke with a growl that was quickly followed by the sweet sound of the warthhog's theme music. "How do you turn this shit off?"

"Aw, but I like it," Matthews complained softly. To his luck no one really knew how to get the radios to shut up.

"Attack!" Palomo called out in excitement.

And then the young soldiers charged down into the valley.

Simmons looked through the scope, pulled his head back, inhaled deeply, and then he looked again. "I, uhm… I think I might have hit him." He squinted to get a closer look. "Wait, I actually did hit him."

"You got your man?" Donut asked, more happy than surprised. Simmons seemed to be the one most shocked. "That's great!"

"Well, we're only half-way there."

"That sounds exciting!"

The maroon soldier shot his teammate another glare. Now they only had one sniper to focus on; the one on the other side of the canyon.

But that sole number was less comforting than it should be. "Where are the other assholes?" Simmons muttered under his breath. The place had been crawling with the pirates, like the lice Grif had once brought to their sleeping quarters, and, ugh, Simmons felt like scratching himself just at the thought.

If the pirates were not up here with them then they had to be down there with…

"Do you hear that?" Donut asked, head tilted towards the faint noise beneath them.

And yes, Simmons did indeed hear that, and his stomach dropped as he did so. "What the fuck are they doing?" he asked, standing up to look down at the jeeps that were for some reason entering the canyon at full speed. "They were supposed to wait for my signal! And I just told them to get ready-"

Donut suddenly grabbed his arm, pulling him down behind cover before the sniper could get him.

As Grif's hands slid from his stomach, he managed to reach down to grab the pistol that was still strapped to his hip.

The pirate in the doorway turned around in an attempt to locate the source of the incoming polka music, as did the Reds though they had an idea of what was coming.

A second later the pirate exclaimed, "Oh shit!" and leapt over the mines in front of him, landing in the safe space Sarge had created in the other end of the shelter.

The pirate had hoped to provide himself cover from the newcomers – and Grif felt more than ready to disappoint him.

His arm felt too heavy to be lifted properly and his vision was still swimming, so all he truly managed was to shoot a line of bullets against the wall, some almost a meter away from the attended target.

At least it worked as a distraction: the pirate turned his visor towards Grif, either about to mock his weak attempt or to simply just shoot and kill him already, but he never had the chance since Sarge finally pulled the trigger and proceeded to blow out the back of his head.

The body fell right in front of Grif who had closed his eyes again at this point: partly because he was so fucking tired but, well, that was a lot of blood and grey brainy stuff. Not something he enjoyed looking at, even though the asshole did deserve it.

"Were you trying to hit him, dirtbag?" Sarge said, pointing towards the marks Grif had left in the wall. "Or did the wall insult your mother?"

Grif did not feel like answering. He could hear the easily recognized sound of a machine gun shooting like crazy as well as some excited cries that told him the newcomers were the Lieutenants and –

"I'm coming, Captain Grif!"

Grif let out a sigh. "Matthews…"

He could not even die in peace. Chances were the Private would be using his last chance to ask for a promotion. Or cry. Definitely cry. And call Grif the best Captain ever. Maybe even try to hold his hand like Palomo had done with Tucker.

Grif decided to save enough strength to be able to flip off Matthews should he come that close.

However, that strength was used to call out, "STOP! Jesus!"

At least it worked. Matthews froze in the doorway, one foot lifted to take the next step, but then he looked down, noticing the mine he would have triggered. "Oh my god…"

"Have you never been taught to use the doorbell?" Sarge huffed but then watched carefully as the Private maneuvered his way around the traps.

Matthews kneeled down next to Grif. "Oh, that's… That's blood."

"You don't say," Grif spat, clenching a fist when his soldier touched a particularly sore spot. "Don't suppose you brought a medkit?"

"We did!" Matthews said proudly, and Grif could have fainted in relief. But then… "It's in the back of the jeep, right next to the… machine gun. Oh no." And then Matthews realized his mistake.

"For fuck's sake, Matthews," Bitters swore and swerved to the left. In his eagerness to help their Captain, the Private had leapt from the jeep and rushed towards the shelter, forgetting that they needed someone to control the machine gun.

Now Bitters was driving around an empty jeep, trying to avoid the bullets that were fired at him.

Smith and Palomo were keeping two pirates pinned down behind a rock, making sure they were going nowhere. But three assholes were still firing at Bitters.

He avoided them for a time, turning directions abruptly to make himself a smaller target, but he quickly came to the conclusion: "Fuck it." Stepping down in the speeder, he drove directly towards one of them; and never stopped.

There was a satisfying bump as he ran over the idiot but Bitters barely had the time to smile smugly behind his visor before he realized his situation: the two other pirates were now aiming at him and he did not have enough time to back away. His smile faltered.

Then, amazingly, something landed between the two assholes. They both looked down in wonder and before they could even realize it was a grenade, it had exploded in their faces.

"What the fuck?" Bitters said, shrugging slightly.

Not that he was complaining or anything.

"Donut, throw your grenade!" Simmons said, trying to get a view of the sniper while still staying in the safety of the rock.

Donut threw. The way only Donut could throw. The grenade sailed across the canyon in a magnificent arc, heading towards the pirate who was also looking up in wonder. The sight was enthralling.

Like a majestic bird closing in on its target, it began to descend…

The three soldiers all bowed their heads to follow the sight of the grenade that plummeted too early.

Instead of hitting the soldier, it did not even reach the other side of the canyon but instead dropped in the middle of it.

They could hear the faint sound of the explosion even all the way up to where they were standing.

"I… Did I miss?" Donut asked in disbelief. "I never miss!"

"We can't all get our man," Simmons said in comfort before realizing just what he had said and immediately he pulled back the hand he had put on Donut's shoulder.

"But I always get it the right place the first time!"

"Please tell me you have one more grenade left," Simmons said, getting behind cover against since the pirate seemed to have pulled himself out of the stunned silence after the weak attempt to kill him.

Donut held up the last grenade with an excited squeal.

"Okay, just imagined he called you pink or something," Simmons said as he crouched down next to his teammate. Simmons knew that Donut had a better chance of killing the pirate than Simmons hitting him with the sniper rifle.

"That's very judgmental of you, Simmons! We don't know him!"

"Well, we know they all had three crates filled with perfectly quality-armor… and they all refused to wear it because it was pink," Simmons pointed out dryly.

That did the trick. Donut tensed, turned his helmet towards the enemy, and muttered darkly, "Oh, it is on. Agent Double-O Donut will not-"

"Just throw it!"

And so Donut did. Again. And the arc seemed even more majestic this time. It sailed through the air and-

"You missed," Simmons said, dumbfounded. "Again. This is almost embarrassing for you-"

The grenade had not managed to go all the way, but instead they watched in wonder how it smashed against the cliff wall around two meters from the edge. When it exploded, it took a part of the cliff wall with it – and the pirate was sent screaming down into the valley when the ground disappeared under his feet.

"Huh," Simmons said as he and his teammate stood up since there was no longer a reason to stay behind cover. "I guess that worked."

Donut pumped a fist into the air. "Agent Double-O Donut always gets his man! The climax might be a little late but you can't blame the technique – sometimes it's all about patience!"

"Or luck," Simmons muttered and desperately hoped that luck was enough to keep their friends alive.

"Jensen?" Kimball asked as she stepped into the hall. "I was informed that you had remained behind to… Oh." The General let out a surprised sound when she saw that he Lieutenant was indeed working on the robot. In fact, her fingers were forced deep into Lopez' chest panel. "I see the rumors were true."

"There was a small accident," Jensen revealed gingerly. "And then another accident… Am I needed elsewhere?"

"Have you had any contact with the extraction team? None of them have reported in lately and they don't answer when…" Kimball trained off when sparks emitted from the panel. Lopez' body jerked slightly, and even Jensen pulled back slightly. The General watched in concern. "Was that supposed to happen?"

Jensen tore off her helmet to blow out the small fire. "Well, it doesn't look too damaged," she said when the small cloud of smoke had been cleared. "And he's been through worse. Unfortunately. Sorry, Lopez."

The General had been worried for hours, ever since the report of Captain Grif's and Colonel Sarge's current situation, but now her worry was directed at the poor Lopez who seemed to be frozen. "Does this… Can you feel that?"

"I don't think so," Jensen replied when the robot did not as much as turn his head. "…at least I hope not."

"End this suffering," the robot's monotone voice suddenly rung out.

Even with the visor hiding it, it was clear that Kimball widened her eyes at the sound. "Did he just-"

"I'm working on it," Jensen promised and patted the robot's shoulder. "Just a bit longer, Lopez."

"Does this mean his speech unit has been fixed?"

"Unfortunately… no. Just give me five more minutes," Jensen said while picking up a screwdriver.

Kimball sent the scene once last concerned glance, taking in the robot's emotionless but somehow still horrified visor. "I'll leave you to it then. Please report if you hear anything from them."

When she left, Jensen was left to work in silence. Lopez pretty much refused to speak at this point, and the Lieutenant had quickly realized that her nervous bickering was not helping – well, at least at was not helping Lopez.

But the silence made it easier to focus and around ten minutes later Jensen was able to exclaim, "Heureka! …I hope. Try talking."

"Si has estropeado esto de nuevo voy a encontrar una manera de autodestrucción." [If you have messed this up again I will find a way to self-destruct.]

The robot froze in surprise, as did Jensen. "Better late than never, huh?" she lisped, brushing a gloved hand against her forehead in relief.

Lopez, even with his newfound voice, said nothing. He straightened out his legs, stood up, and began to march out of the room.

Jensen remained on the ground, looking after him with a devastated look on her face. She fiddled her thumbs.

"I'm really sorry," she said again. "I should have looked where I was driving."

"No deberías haber estado en el jeep en primer lugar." [You should not have been in the jeep in the first place.]

"And I should have stopped after I fixed your arm. And not follow my crazy ideas. And I should have known when I'm completely unqualified, Jensen, you know this!" she scolded herself before burying her face in her hands.

Lopez was standing in the doorway when he froze.

When Jensen finally removed her hands from her face, knuckles brushing away a frustrated tear in the process, she looked up to see Lopez offering her the rare VDO 1x85mm screwdriver, and Jensen smiled.

"Palomo!" Smith called out but received no answer. "PALOMO!"

But the Lieutenant kept firing, and the sound of the machine gun drowned out Smith's orders. Either he did not realize he was hitting nothing else than the rock, or perhaps he just believed that keeping them pinned down there was the best idea.

At least it kept the pirates from shooting back. It was the same hesitation that kept Smith from moving the jeep: if he drove either forward or backwards at least one of the pirates would gain the opportunity to shoot back. Then rather have them pinned down, even though it was just a question of time before they ran out of bullets…

Someone honked their horn loudly but the sound could barely be heard through Palomo's constant firing. But Smith saw Bitters racing towards them, never slowing down, and before the pirates could react they had both kissed his bumper.

Smith drove forward; making sure Palomo could finish him off with his machine gun. "Sorry," he said when he finally let go of the trigger. "Where you saying something?"

He sounded sincere so Smith replied calmly, "My comment is no longer relevant."

"Great!" Palomo exclaimed before looking towards the shelter. "So is Captain Grif alive?"

Bitters jumped out of the jeep to investigate the matter himself. Unlike Matthews he actually noticed the mines before entering the shelter. He looked up to stare at Sarge who was still keeping a close look on the entrance. "What? Were you expecting us?" the Lieutenant snorted dryly.

"You count on it," the Sergeant told him. "Now help us carry this heavy meatsack out of here before I change my mind."

They ended up going through the hole Sarge had created in order to avoid the mines, and somehow they managed to squeeze around the side of the shelter. Smith came to help; he and Bitters were trying to hold Grif's torso while Matthews took care of the legs. Sarge stayed close to order Grif to weigh less.

The Captain was drifting in and out but somehow could not manage to fall completely asleep. "Ow," Grif muttered as he was hauled towards the jeep. Every time one of them would pull his limbs too hard, the fire in his torso would spread again. When they dropped him on the back of jeep, he let out a grunt of pain. "Ow," he said again, more sternly this time.

"You can complain when Grey's working on you, asshole."

"Simmons?"

The maroon soldier had arrived inside the valley along with Donut, and had now run from one jeep to another, medkit in his hand. "We need to get his clothes off," he muttered as he pulled out the biofoam, mentally repeating the correct procedure.

"I can help!" Donut offered, and together with Simmons they managed to cut open the under-armor, revealing the wound beneath. Grif winched and he guessed his teammates did the same when they took in the details.

"That's… That's a looot of blood," Matthews said from somewhere outside Grif's field of vision. The young soldier sounded more light-headed than Grif felt.

There was a sound of something heavy hitting the ground, followed by Bitters cursing, "For fuck's sake, Matthews."

When Grif opened his eyes again, Simmons was holding the can of biofoam. Reacting by instinct, Grif attempted to drag himself backwards by the elbows. "No way. I'm not doing that shit again, it hurts."

"Well, I'm not a surgeon and Sarge does not have any tools and this place is highly unhygienic anyway, so yes, you are absolutely doing this again."

"Hell no," Grif said and tried to shield the wound without touching it.

Simmons easily forced his hands aside. "It's this or bleeding out. Seriously, Grif."

"Just… Give me a minute to consider."

"Ah, quit your bellyaching," Sarge growled.

"That thing is going to give me a bellyache," Grif snorted, staring at the can that felt like it was filled with flames.

Before he could complain again, Sarge promptly smashed the bottom of his shotgun against his temple. Grif's head fell limply against the deck of the jeep.

"I hit the mute button," Sarge explained. "All that whining and moaning was taking too long."

"Works for me," Simmons replied with a shrug and leaned forward to being the procedure. Donut looked nervously over his shoulder as the cyborg worked. Through the ordeal, Grif's body would twitch every once in a while but he remained unconscious.

When the work was job and Bitters had helped him push the rest of Grif into the jeep, Simmons prepared to sit behind the wheel. Before he could get so far, Tucker contacted him through the radio.

"So, uhm… We may have lost track of the pirates. And some of us may be taking this harder than others." Simmons was faintly sure he could hear Carolina yelling in the background. "Just a head ups: they could be heading back to the compound. Or they could be heading to the freaking North Pole for all we know. I tried to contact Grif but he isn't answering. Figure you could pass on the warning. Guy's probably taking a nap on the job or something."

"Yeah," Simmons said, looking over his shoulder to glance at his unconscious teammate in the back of the warthog. "Someone like that."

"Hey, Sarge?" Donut called out from the seat next to Simmons. "Where are you going?"

"Smoke cover. We have just enough explosives for the right size explosion."

"But," Simmons argued weakly, "the enemies are dead. "Shouldn't we attempt to disarm the mines and colle-"

"And what about my armor?"

Donut's comment was the last thing said in this argument.

The jeeps left the canyon with a big cloud of smoking rising behind them, coming from the remains of the shack that had now been blown into smithereens.

Grif woke up to the wonderful sound of someone saying, "Usted piensa que tuvo un momento difícil? Yo era el que estaba atrapado con una loca?"

"Oh thank god," he muttered, leaning further back into what felt like a heavily soft pillow. "Lopez is still Spanish. I have not lost my mind."

"Well, you are pretty high on painkillers." Grif opened his eye slightly to see Simmons leaning against a white wall. "But Sarge also claimed to have heard Lopez' long lost British brother in the radio."

"His name is John," Donut explained, holding out his hands in a dramatic motion. "He went to chase his true love-"

"Donut-"

"-but was catfished!"

Simmons sent him a glare. "Drop it!" After inhaling deeply, he turned towards the patient again. "Anyways, we don't really know what exactly happened there but Lopez is all normal so…"

"¿Por qué me llamas normal? Ahora estoy sufriendo de traumas." [Why are you calling me normal? I am now suffering from traumas.]

Grif tried to sit up and was surprised by the lack of pain. Granted, he didn't feel anything anywhere. Probably why Simmons had talked about painkillers… "Wait… I'm not dead?"

"You're observant today," Simmons snorted, though the snarkiness was only half-hearted.

"Don't you remember?" Donut asked, leaning in over the bed. "We found you and stuffed your hole."

"I'm… pretty happy I do not remember that."

Grif settled back against the pillow again, closing his eyes as he truly realized how comfortable he was. It had been a while since he had been allowed to rest in a bed this soft.

"Doesn't surprise me. Sarge did manage to give you a concussion when he knocked you out," Simmons revealed with a shrug.

That caused Grif's eyes to snap open again. "Wait, Sarge saves me by fucking breaking my skull?"

"Consider it punishment for not dying properly when it had already been scheduled. Look at how many people who had to abandon orders to save your sorry hide. Shameful. You never question fate, dirtbag. Next time, die immediately without all that whining and moaning. Save us all some time."

Grif had not realized Sarge was in the room before now. The Colonel was still wearing full body armor, having placed himself in the corner of the room. His visor was turned towards the hospital bed.

"I'll be sure to make a mental note of that," Grif said dryly.

"Well," Simmons said, straightening out his back as he began to walk out of the room. "I'll check with Dr. Grey to see whether you're dying from any infections."

"Only come back with good news, Simmons. My poor heart can only take that many disappointments in one day. Why won't the gods just take him already?"

When Simmons walked out, the hospital room was left in a thick silence. Grif's head was buzzing slightly but not in alarming way as it had felt like when it had been caused by blood loss. This was more gentle, comforting. And Grif truly felt like he could sleep for days. Maybe now he would actually be allowed to do so.

Something kept him from falling asleep immediately, however. Like an annoying tingle in the back of his mind.

His vision was still a bit blurry but Grif managed to focus it on the red soldier in the other end of the room. "It's probably the painkillers making me say this," he began. He made sure not to gain eye-contact with Sarge's visor. "Like, it can't be anything else. But, you know, not just ditching me out there… it was a pretty not-shitty thing to do… So yay and all that. And, well, thanks."

"Don't mention it," Sarge huffed with crossed arms. "As in a gravely, never-to-be-questioned order: we are never bringing up this day again."

"Fine with me."

Grif closed his eyes again, pressing the back of his head deeper into the pillow. The urge to nap was back again, though not as frightening this time. Thank fucking god: the fact that he had disliked the thought of sleep for a second was one of the crazier part of the day.

But before the Hawaiian could truly nod off, he heard someone sniff in the background. It could not be Sarge (unless these drugs were truly taking him on a joyride) which meant…

"Donut is still here, isn't he?" Grif sighed without opening his eyes. He knew he had forgotten something.

"Yep."

Another sniffle. "This is so beautiful!"

"Fuck off, Donut!"

"¿Por qué siempre me supervisaste también? Ni siquiera quería ser testigo de esto." [Why did you always oversee me as well? I did not even want to witness this.]

"Oh, he'll be fine. Give him week's recovery or two," Grey said, looking briefly at the tablet she was holding. Her bloody gloves left a red stripe across it. "Extracting the bullet and patching up the wound really wasn't that tricky. But then I had to take care of that nasty concussion and that made it all a bit more entertaining!"

Simmons nodded since that statement was somewhat comforting. "Good. Good."

The Doctor walked off then – there were always major and minor incidents to deal with. And apparently Feierstein's party had become rather wild, resulting in at least two accidents involving a stun gun. The details were still fuzzy.

The cyborg had just turned around to return to Grif's room when an aqua-armored soldier came walking in a hasty pace from the other end of the hallway. When he noticed Simmons, he sped up even further. "Why is Palomo telling me he saw Grif's intestines?"

"That may be an exaggeration… But he was shot."

Tucker let out an impressed whistle. "Sounds like someone had a worse day than us. He okay?"

Simmons nodded. "Already out of surgery. Sarge did manage to give him a concussion though."

"And there's nothing worse than a sore head." Donut was suddenly there as well. None of them had heard him come closer, and the two other soldiers jumped in surprise. "What a crazy day, huh?"

"I don't know." Tucker crossed his arms. "Sarge beating up Grif? Sounds pretty normal to me."

"Oh, Sarge didn't shoot him," Donut cut in before Simmons could tell his own explanation. "Dirtbag Numero Dos did!"

"Donut, I don't think-" Simmons tried to correct him but gave up with a sigh.

"But then you guys came to the rescue?" Tucker concluded. "So you saved the supplies?"

Simmons winched. "Technically yes. But technically no."

"Well," Tucker shrugged, "at least no one died. I mean, no one we care about."

"Oh, we leave all the dramatic deaths to your team," Simmons snorted dryly. "It works better that way."

"Don't say our day wasn't dramatic! Fit for a novel if you ask me!" Donut chirped. "Sarge heroically saving Grif… Of course Simmons and I missed the most of it. Not funny I tell you: the amount of anticipation we went through… But when I finally got Simmons to stop screaming, I think we handled the situation rather well. We got our man. Well, men. This whole conflict was caused from more men appearing than expected. Not that we were overwhelmed: it'll take more to get us on our knees."

Tucker held up a hand, signaling he needed some second to comprehend this information. When he spoke again, he was looking at Simmons, "Wait, Sarge saved Grif's life? Donut told you to stop running around screaming? What the hell happened here?!"

"I didn't scream," Simmons huffed. He crossed his arm and raised his head to look confident – and failed. "It was merely a nervous breakdown which was totally expected given the circumstances."

"Okay. Seriously. What the fuck?" Tucker asked, glancing from one Red to another.

"I don't even know." Simmons shook his head before he and his friends walked down the hallway, towards the hospital room where Grif would be resting the rest of the week if he got his wish. The maroon soldier let out a disbelieving snort. "Jensen keeps claiming she taught Lopez to speak English. Now that's crazy."

A/N: Done! Sorry for the wait; I have been caught up with the bingo! I have literally taught myself to drink coffee in order to stay awake and finish this story.

But… This is the end, guys! We did it!

Thank you so much for sticking with me so far! Thank you for every view, kudos and comment! I hope you all enjoyed; it has been a blast writing this fic, though Sarge dialogue is always a pain!

I still have so many other RvB fics to take care of so I won't disappear. Feel free to visit some of my other stories (if you haven't already) if you feel like it.

Thank you! Truly! You have all been awesome readers, and I hope this fic was what you wished for!