Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ All I Have ❯ Kiss With A Fist ( Chapter 13 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

A/N: I end the story here; update soon, I hope. Hate it, like it? Leave me a comment! It's currently my obsession, so…I'll be determined to finish it anyway.

: Kiss With A Fist :

The sun hurt as it shone down at him. Walking stiffly, Andy grimaced behind his sunglasses and wished the hangover remedies had a better kick than they'd promised. He felt as if he had the flu, his body aching and sore all over, his gut twisted with nausea, general weakness making every movement difficult to make. He had an unexplained bruise over his right cheek, which throbbed uncomfortably, colored alarmingly over his pale skin. He couldn't even think of how he'd gotten it, but figured with all his drunken stumbling throughout his apartment, he must have gotten it somewhere.

The suburbs were quiet, the streets less used and the sidewalks easier to navigate. He wasn't struggling to make his way through major throngs of people just for a block walk to the store. His body was trembling from alcohol withdrawal as he finally made it to the store, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep them under control. Not bothering to remove his sunglasses, knowing he looked frighteningly unhealthy, he grabbed a basket and scurried through the aisles for the most basic of items. He completely avoided the alcohol section when he came to it.

After making his purchases, he ripped open a pack of hangover remedies and high potency vitamins, tossing them back while opening a bottle of water. He walked outside, shifting over to the side of the building to drink his water in peace. His shakes were noticeable as he dumped water over his grocery bag, sputtering as it traveled down the wrong pipe. Once he had his coughing under control, he leaned a shoulder against the wall of the building, closing his eyes to catch his breath.

It was a day later, and he was still thinking of things. Of Ken, of Adam, of himself. He had to sneak out of the building just to get some fresh air, feeling cooped up and trapped in a new apartment that suddenly held too many traumatic memories. He wanted to drink himself into a stupor, but he realized that doing so wasn't going to solve anything. He could avoid everything all he could, but there was a day in which he would have to confront things anyway. He couldn't really remember too much of things, but there was just enough for him to know that Adam had hurt him and that Ken was intrusive. He would need all his wits if either were to confront him with their actions.

He sighed low, hands shaking as he lowered his grocery bag to the sidewalk. He wanted to sit but it was still so painful to do so. He wished once more for his field bag and rubbed at his burning eyes. He felt so weak and so all alone…

He heard the noise of wheels on cement, of a skateboarder taking advantage of the steel railing nearby. The clatter of a successful ride down the railing and onto the street proved to be entirely overwhelming and caused his ears to ache. He winced, holding onto his throbbing head. Adjusting his sunglasses, he shifted to pick up his grocery bag and fiddled with his water bottle. A glance backward told him that skateboarder was some girl, her long, dark hair pulled into a ponytail and her body encased within some turquoise getup that didn't look appropriate with the toy of choice at her heeled feet. He looked at the watch that Ken had given him to wear, the loose band heavy around his wrist. He wished he had his cell; he ached to talk to someone at that moment, to hear Sam's comforting young voice on the other end.

With a sigh, he started to walk back toward his apartment building.

Later that night, he awoke at the sound of knocking at his door, reaching out automatically for the lamp and rolling off the couch with an awkward yelp. Disoriented, he managed to get up and stagger over, unlocking it as he wiped at his face and wondered what he'd say to Sam if Sam was feeling moody. He then remembered that it couldn't be Sam, because Sam knew not to come out. The younger man had told him he wouldn't because it was a risk that he couldn't take. As he stood there recalling that, shaking off his disorientation and feeling the shakes as they took over his body once more, the knocking started again.

He moved to open the door after checking over his outfit, and stepped out. He kept walking, his mind focused entirely on answering the door, his body moving independently of his intentions. The night was warm and humid once he left the building, and there were sirens in the distance. There were a group of laughing men and women at the curb, loud music playing, but Andy didn't see or hear any of it. He instead climbed into a cab that was waiting on the street and climbed in, completely oblivious to the fact that he was no longer in the building, and that the driver had the same dazed expression as he.

They left Roseville in silence, and New Park's city limits came and went. Andy found himself staring out the window, watching the night life pass him by, never once realizing what was happening. He kept worrying over Sam's state of mind, worrying over the possibility that perhaps he did drink too much. It was as if his mind was looping through these thoughts over and over again, preventing him from even realizing where he was or what he was doing.

Finally the driver pulled over and Andy climbed out, stumbling slightly. The car pulled away and Andy started to walk. The sidewalk was warm on his bare feet, and a couple of suited men glanced at him as he passed them, eyes glazed with his thoughts. He turned a corner and stopped short. Lifting his wrist, he found himself focused on the droopy watch that held clumsily to his limb. He moved to take it off when sirens and flashing lights caught his attention.

Completely startled out of his daze, Andy whipped his head about to see a couple of fire trucks and an ambulance driving down the street, nearly plowing over a bicyclist that wasn't paying attention. Sucking in a huge breath, Andy realized that he'd once again wandered off without realizing it, panic starting to set in. He glanced up at the lights that flashed in favor of the emergency vehicles, noting that the street names were familiar to those belonged to a known border between the East and South Side. How he'd made the two hour trip into New Park was completely beyond him.

Hands shaking, he patted his pockets for his wallet and realized he didn't have it on him. He wondered how he'd been found, wondering if it was his sobriety that had done so. His breath came to him in shaky pants, his mind whirling with a sense of dirtiness and agitation. The bicyclist nearly hit him as he came to a stop next to him, waiting for a light change. The emergency vehicles finally crossed onto a side street, where a car accident awaited them.

Andy found himself moving again, but it wasn't of his own will. The bicyclist left him with a cheery whistle, and Andy looked down at his bare feet in surprise, wondering why they couldn't be so considerate as to make him wear his shoes. Suddenly he turned and began walking once more in the direction he had been in, his head feeling a stabbing ache that made him wince.

He paused in place, reaching up to rub at his head before turning and merging onto the crosswalk once more, his mind in a daze. He was nearly to the other side before he turned and hurried back across, knowing that what was happening was very wrong and out of his control. He had just jumped back onto the sidewalk when his head felt another stab, causing him to pause in place. It felt as if his head were being jerked in different directions, as if there were invisible people pulling at him with their fingernails. The pain caused him to groan, his hands going up to his head, as if to pull those nails from his very brain.

People grumbled as they flowed around him, some stepping on his bare feet and others knocking into him with their bodies, so Andy stumbled out of the way, leaning against the wall of a building. With pain-heavy eyes, he glanced over at the car accident, the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles catching his attention. Then his eyes closed, a sense of calm hitting him. The pain left him, the sounds and sights of the city dissipating into nothing. It was as if he were back within his own apartment, awaking from a long nap. When he lifted them again, he could see the familiar shapes and shadows of his living room area, and it truly felt he was sitting on his couch. It was as if he had been having a bad dream; he looked at his feet, and instead of seeing them standing atop of the sidewalk, he was viewing them across the couch, where he liked to prop them up on the opposite arm rest.

The shrilly shriek of Playboy bunnies of some reality show was on, and he had a beer propped nearby. Andy truly felt at ease, and he exhaled slowly, figuring on yet another long, lonely night.

He found himself looking at his itchy palm once more, and felt an uneasy feeling settle within the pit of his stomach. His living room merged back into the warehouse, where the sights, smells and previous action fell into place. It was as if the last few days hadn't happened, and Andy felt his limbs tense, the familiar weight and positioning of his field uniform back in place. Suddenly it was as if his mind had drifted off and he was recreating the scene of watching Ken race off without him.

He turned his head at the sight of the Grey Alien peeking out from behind the open locker, and felt startled at its approach. But he knew he wasn't in any danger, so he relaxed.

“Hi,” he said, lowering his hands, as if he were lowering his weapon. People passing by him glanced at him momentarily and walked off, as if such things were seen everyday. “Can you come out, please?”

The Grey left his sight, hiding for a few moments before peering back out at him.

“Barry, I found one,” he then reported, giving his location, a single businessman on a cellphone glancing at him curiously.

Before Barry could speak, the Grey hurried over to him, surprisingly nimble as it reached out for him. Unsure of what would happen, Andy quickly scooted back into the wall of the building, grabbing onto his weapon with both hands and issuing a sharp command for it to back away. People glanced at him once more, a couple of them pausing in place to look at him. What he didn't know was that their coordinating white outfits identified them as East Side members, and they were waiting to hear what they'd been looking for while his memory continued to play out.

The Grey Alien continued forward, grabbing onto the barrel with one hand and lunging at his face with the other outstretched. It took a moment to realize it was trying to give him something, Barry and Ken's voices buzzing together within his earpiece as a voice filled his head.

It is what they want, the Grey said, mouth unmoving as it communicated telepathically. Before Andy could even ask what it meant, a wet, squishy sound filled the air, as if someone had dropped something heavy into a thick pool of mud. The Alien hit him forcefully, his arm sweeping out to knock it away from him, gun lifting as he backed away.

Staring down at the limp form, Andy caught his breath and settled his nerves, realizing the thing had been struck dead while in the middle of its leap. Warm air hit him at this point, the memory wavering slightly, the sounds and smells of the city causing a stream of confusion to interrupt his next action. Instead of reaching for his goggles to analyze what had happen, he touched warm air and his own blond hair. His eyes focused on the two men that were watching him curiously, and he started to recognize their presence before finding himself back in the replay.

Analyzing its injuries, he found that the Alien had died in the same way as the others had; someone had rendered its brain into mush. Matter crowded and pooled within its overlarge skull as Ken reached him, looking pissed that he missed the action. It had taken only a matter of seconds; Andy doubted that the other man had even stepped outside the building.

As Ken demanded to know what had happened, moving around the room with his submachine guns in front of him. Andy glanced around himself, looking for the object that the Grey had tried to give him. Spying it, he crouched and picked it up, furrowing his brow at the sight of a tightly folded receipt form. Only when he opened it, it blurred from his sight, as if someone had done so by magic of visual technology. An alien form of annoyance hit him as the receipt continued to blur, and the memory was paused in unnatural focus.

Warm air hit him again, and he re-focused on the men that were then climbing into a waiting vehicle nearby. Entirely confused, he watched them pull away from the curb with annoyed expressions, hearing the jumble of voices around him separate into sounds of the city. Once he realized he was no longer in the warehouse, that he was no longer in uniform and that he wasn't hearing Ken's mutters, confusion hit hard. He felt dazed and drugged, looking around himself with rising panic, wanting to claw out the intruding perplexity from his own mind. It didn't help matters when the sound of a skateboarder sailed passed him, the sound making him wince.

Breathing hard, as if he were in the stages of some hyperventilating action, Andy started to walk, glancing at street signs and recognizing how far he was from base. His entire body ached, his hands shaking and his stomach still nauseated. Every symptom felt worse upon physical activity, his throat clenching with the near-miss of dry heaving. His skin felt clammy and he wanted nothing more than to go lay down someplace quiet. He touched his head, where a stabbing sensation hit him, and he felt that feeling of being pulled from his own skin. Recognizing instantly that someone was manipulating him again, he then started walking as a dazed expression took over his panicked one. Andy then lost focus once more, dully avoiding the skateboarder that nearly crashed into him.

Hours later he blinked dry eyes, feeling as if he'd just walked into a room where an intense argument had taken place. Only he didn't recognize the area he was in—the smells of trash and waste strong. His eyes watered and he inhaled deeply in shock; coughing as he tasted the scents he was smelling. He covered his mouth and nose, struggling to recognize the area he was in. The windows had been completely boarded over. The darkness was heavy, but there was faint light from a single streetlight coming in from the open doorway.

His feet were blistered and achy, and he looked down at them, finding them in a painful, bloodied state. The darkness around him failed to show him where he was at, but he could smell the ocean. The sounds of the shipyards were at his left, and he stumbled in that direction, his feet protesting the action.

Before he could get anywhere, he lifted his wrist again, to look at the watch that drooped there. He felt the sensation of the spoken word, `Damn', and felt completely empty. Alone.

Andy dropped his hand to his side and stared out at the darkness. He was filled with so much confusion and panic that his thoughts refused to focus. His eyes settled on nothing, but his head started to ache, the visages of a migraine beginning to fester. He reached up to cover his mouth and nose once more, trying to block out the scents that bothered him. His shakes returned, and he dry-heaved, feeling physically miserable. He swallowed hard and felt the pain at his feet, a burning sensation that made it uncomfortable to stand.

He lowered himself carefully to the floor, to sit with his feet out in front of him, feeling awkward as he did so. His head continued to pound, making it impossible to think. All he wanted to do was curl up and rest, feeling the physical exhaustion. It was only because of his excellent physical strength that it didn't impair him too much, but he was still a Normal, and he was still capable of feeling physical strains. He figured he'd get some rest before venturing out to get an idea of where he was to call for help. His feet were throbbing uncomfortably with the rest of his body, the shakes causing him to pull his arms around himself in order to keep himself from falling apart.

He started to become aware of sounds of movement behind him, so he turned to see what it was that was making the noise. Through the open doorway spilled tall, powerful bodies in black. Recognizing the uniforms and the directed orders to surround the perimeters, Andy realized that it was his unit. It looked as if they'd brought along a different unit as well, and as he slowly rose, feeling his feet protest the action, realized that it was Sam breaking the sharp command to drop back so they could secure the area. The room became so small upon their entrance, and he immediately felt claustrophobic without the comfort and reassuring weight of his own uniform and gear.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Sam asked, reaching out to touch his face, exposed thumb and index finger touching Andy's bruised cheek. His gloved hand felt cold and impersonal, but at that moment, his touch was comforting. “We were looking for you all night, man! Once we got the call from 43, we—!”

“You dumb piece of shit! Least you listened to me `bout keeping that watch!” Ken cursed at him, shoving Sam aside.

“You know how long it took to track your dumb ass down? You ain't this fast guy, but you were awful hard to catch up to,” Paul complained, shoving Sam aside to stand next to his brother, the younger medic stumbling back as Andy gave them a tired frown.

Anxiety suddenly hit him as he remembered Sam and Adam being in the same unit. He wasn't ready to see Adam yet, and quickly looked at the ground, trying to steady his breathing. Almost as if the man possessed some form of telepathy, Ken looked at him and shifted into a stance that could almost be described as defensive, looking over his shoulder at the others in the room.

“Good thing you ain't wearin' any shoes, stupid,” Paul continued, unaware of his brother's action.

“Where are your shoes anyway?” Ken asked in bewilderment, nudging Andy's bloodied toes with the tip of his boot. “Can you walk? You better be able to walk, Murphy, cuz ain't nobody in here carrying you!”

“Did I ask to be carried?”

“If he had shoes, shithead, we'd still be lookin'!”

“Don't you be calling me a shithead!”

“Don't yell, please,” Andy heard himself beg, covering his ears as his head continued to pulse with a discomforting throb.

“Shit, Murphy, you take up heavy drinkin'?” Paul then asked. “You look terrible.”

“That was such a gay thing to say,” Ken said, laughing before punching his brother's helmet.

Both of them found themselves shoved completely aside as Adam cleared the way for Ian, his face screwed up with a dirty look as he frowned down at Andy. He was even more intimidating in his uniform, sniper rifle slung back behind one shoulder, imposing frame completely dominating his own space before Andy. Momentarily, Andy met Adam's eyes, but he looked away quickly, feeling his stomach and innards clench at the very sight of him.

“Get that helmet on him,” Ian directed, Jensen removing his on command and following through, Andy feeling the warm weight settle over his head. “More than likely they'll stop for now, because the tech blinds them. Cooney, call ahead and have Recon on standby—they'll need to send some unit to look for the people behind this. They have to be close by. Larson, get into contact with Center records for any special details we need about him. If base wants him safe, they'll have to move him again, so in the meanwhile, we'll have to keep an eye on him until further ordered.”

“Good call, grunt,” Cooney said with lazy indifference, relaying Ian's words.

“I've got an extra vest here,” the new guy said, looking older than the team, his face gruff and lined with his age. He held it out for Andy to take and waited for him to strap it on before joining Barry with something they had been discussing previously.

“What's going on?” Andy asked, adjusting Jensen's helmet, feeling bad for having to take it. But the stealth officer was pulling on a hood and chuckling with Larson, seemingly happy without it. “I mean, it's almost like I was sleepwalking—I don't know how I got here—”

“Your unit informed us of your erratic behavior,” Ian said, glaring at him. His upper lip curled in disgust before he caught himself, but Andy looked away, suddenly feeling safe standing next to Ken as the other man forced himself between them. “We've been trying to track you down all night.”

“I don't even remember anything—”

“Why didn't you insist on calling base to be looked over when you knew something was wrong? You've put yourself and those around you in danger! Who knows what those head workers will do just to get at whatever it is you have!”

“I—I don't even know—!”

“Once you realized you were aware of yourself, you should have called for help! Whatever it is that they want, they're going to keep these psy-attacks going until either side gets it. And it has to be valuable if they're willing to search high and low just to bring you out. We're not a bodyguard service, and we shouldn't be wasting our time here dealing with this situation when there are other things in the city we could be doing.”

Because it felt like Ian was personally attacking him for something that Andy hadn't any control over, Andy looked away. Ian found himself pushed away by Ken and Paul.

“You kin just forget that shit,” Ken spit at him, shoving Adam aside when the bigger man moved in to separate them. “He's civilian now! Ain't it our job to protect civilians from Alien and Superhuman threats?”

“We'll get the job better done than you boy scouts ever would! Get off me!” Paul then demanded, facing up to Adam as he once again set himself between them.

“I am not touching you,” Adam explained patiently, as if addressing a small child.

“We do apply our efforts to keep civilians safe, but as a personal service to individual civilians, that is beyond our line of work!” Ian said in exasperation, shoving his rifle at Larson to hold onto it. “If it's such a big deal, then why don't you hire someone in that scope of work to watch over him?”

“You better step off me because I get mean!” Paul then growled, shoving at Adam, who only gave him an annoyed look. Paul shoved at him again, so Adam used an arm to sweep Paul away from him. Ken jumped at him, Ian reaching in to yank him away while Cooney shouted for order, looking bored about it.

At the ensuring shouting match between them and Neilson, who reached in to shove the Power twins away, Andy backed away, reaching up to touch his head as pain registered then.

“It's been a long night,” Jensen said apologetically.

“I'm sorry.”

“You look terrible. You've been drinking, haven't you?”

Andy gave him a sheepish look. “I've stopped the day before.”

“It must have been hard to have been discharged, put into this situation again. But don't be sorry. It's obvious you're not in control. I gotta say, Smith and Kawakura have been battling it out for your head all night. It has to be something big.”

Andy acknowledged this with a slight nod, thinking of the street battle that had put him out of service in the first place. He then looked over at the group that was shouting at each other, to catch Adam's eyes again. He was so tall and large that he absolutely stood out from the group. He looked away quickly, feeling entirely conflicted.

“I don't even know what it is they want,” he said slowly, almost mechanically.

“Nobody does. But Powers says it happened that night in the warehouse district, after you'd found the bodies,” Jensen said. “Says you've been acting strange since then. Whatever it is, it has to be big. The moment those two found you, either or's trying to get a hold of you. We've crossed miles over each border every time you moved. Each one was manipulating you physically; including the people around you. You probably don't even remember half of it.”

“But your feet will,” Sam said, forcing Andy to bend his leg back to look over his left foot. He shoved a packet of vacuum sealed pills into one of Andy's shaking hands, along with his canteen. “You need to sit down somewhere so I can attend to them. And take those, for fuck's sake, Andy. Your withdrawal symptoms are horrible, but it's the physical exhaustion that's really wearing you down. It's a good thing you are in shape, otherwise I'd be calling for civilian services. I think you'll be fine to make it through the night, now.”

“I just want to go home,” Andy said, awkwardly standing in place as Sam looked over his foot. Jensen reached out to steady him, Ken and Paul's loud shouts dominating those of Bridgette's and Ian's. He did as Sam asked, knowing that the pills were standard pain relievers. It wouldn't take away most of his symptoms, but it would alleviate others.

“We'll get you home,” Sam assured him, pulling out a few packets and going to work. At the feel of cold cream being smoothed gently over the ruined skin, Andy winced, waiting for the pain to kick in. Once it did, he struggled to focus on something else. He could feel his own skin mending underneath the cream, tingles of awareness and wrongness creeping up his ankle. Sam then proceeded to wrap gauze and strong wrap bandages around it, taping it in place as a makeshift sock so the cream could continue to work.

“I'm just glad we were able to find you,” he then said, finishing with the other foot.

“But you have to wonder why it stopped suddenly,” Jensen said, making sure Andy was steady on his feet. Feeling only minimal soreness there, Andy thanked him, examining the wrapping Sam had done. “Was it because of us? Or are we out of reach?”

“You can never tell where they are,” Jefferson said, popping up from the shadows nearby. “What's up, Murphy? Did you go for a long walk?”

Andy gave a sheepish shrug. “I forgot where I was going.”

“You blondes are so lacking in directional skills.” Jefferson frowned at the arguing nearby. “Jeez. For once they listened. I hate that Peters guy. He's so fucking bossy. Let's go.”

“I'll be there shortly,” Sam said, pushing Andy toward Jefferson as he and Jensen led the way toward an open door. Kurt joined them with a quiet greeting, her eyes focused elsewhere as she responded to the prompts that were visible and audible only to her.

“They're going to transfer you elsewhere, since your living area has been compromised. How they found you so quickly is beyond Intelligence,” Jefferson said as they left what looked to be a Laundromat. Andy glanced around himself and realized he didn't even know the area. The city seemed so far off. “They are going to take you to a secure location until they can move you again.”

“Reassuring,” Andy said, discomforted with the thought.

He was not looking forward to falling under the control of the sedatives that would throw the mind-workers off. The very thought of being moved again hurt him physically. It seemed so much, so overwhelming that he yearned for a drink. He wished to be mind-numbingly drunk, so he wouldn't have to think about moving again, nor to face Adam so soon. As he looked back at them, seeing Ian prove some point into Ken's furious face, he felt his cheeks warm with a blush. To have so much knowledge of the man's close admirer, to know that he felt violent and angry towards him for being so out of reach, made Andy feel sick and disgusted with himself for falling for Adam in the first place.

“It'll work out without you wanting to solve things with a bottle,” Jensen said quietly. “You haven't changed since high school.”

At that, Andy gave him a shocked expression. “We…went to school together?”

“We never spoke. Different circles,” Jensen admitted. “But I watched back then. It's how I get along today. But I mean it, man. Masking what happened with the contents of a bottle ain't going to help you. It didn't back then, it won't now.”

Andy didn't know what to say to that, the slight reference to his past making his head twinge. He looked down as Sam reached his side, a comforting arm around his shoulders in a brotherly hug. The innocent action almost made Andy break down and cry; he needed and wanted some true affection, after everything that had happened. But he wasn't going to break down in front of everybody; he'd wait until he was home alone. For now, it only looked as if exhaustion affected him, leaving him quiet and stumbling among the uniformed men and women that carried large guns around him.

Ken and Paul stalked away from the group to reach them, Paul shoving Jensen aside and moving to do the same to Sam before Ken stopped him. He resumed the protective stance before them, Sam looking at him in question before finding Larson's clueless shrug from the back.

“Don't see why they forced him to be a civilian in the first place,” Paul muttered, lower lip full of chaw. Ken looked in the same manner, spitting from the side of his mouth as he gave his older brother an annoyed look.

“If you think about it, Powers, if they can implant something like that in one person's mind, what's to stop them from implanting on other soldiers?” Ian asked from his distance, where Adam and Larson had him, to avoid anymore confrontation with the others.

Ken frowned, Paul mimicking the look.

“It's amazing that they hadn't done this before,” Ian then said, glaring at Andy, as if the entire thing was his fault. Andy didn't even want to acknowledge the man anymore. He was tired of it all, leaning in close to Sam to smell the scent of his uniform, of his sweat. As if sensing his need, Sam touched him with a gentle hand to the arm, a casual gesture.

“It's kinda true,” Larson piped up moments later, eyes locked on something they couldn't see. “They found damage to the inside of his helmet. I just finished checking out the records. How in the hell can you damage the inside of your helmet?”

Ken glanced at Paul. “The ice pack.”

“The ice pack! Fuckin' bullshit, who—? Gimme your shit, kid, the ice pack,” Paul then demanded of Sam, who gave him a befuddled look.

“What ice pack?” Ian asked in annoyance. “Sam, give him an ice pack.”

Sam complied hastily, and Ken snatched it from his gloved hands. The twins activated the pack while the others looked on with clueless expressions.

“He had this `tween his head and helmet that one day, the day before,” Ken said to Barry, who remembered with a thoughtful nod. Andy remembered it being so, eyes lifting with memory.

“'Fore it all happened at the warehouse. It was all hot that day. Yeah, cuz when he pulled his helmet off, I smashed it, top'ah his head,” Paul said with rising irritation.

Adam remembered the blue in Andy's hair. He watched with a confused expression as the ice pack grew blue in Ken's hands before Paul snatched it away from him and crushed it between both hands, forcing it to pop. Blue, jelly-like substance gushed over his gloved hands. Andy's eyes widened, and he realized that it was completely his mistake. Because he had been hot that day, not giving a thought that he could have damaged his own uniform for his own comfort.

Ian gave him a disgusted look. “More than likely, he cracked the tech inside with that idiotic stunt. He set himself up for an attack.”

“Then why didn't the clerks catch it?” Adam asked him quietly, feeling annoyed at the ire Ian spoke with. “That's their job, isn't it?”

Ian shot him a look, Sam looking down at his pack to retrieve another ice pack, reading the fine print labeled on the side. “It reacts appropriately to human temperatures. Probably it adjusted to your head on one side and then to the helmet itself, freezing it to a point where the tech cracked,” he mumbled to Andy, who felt even more idiotic.

“Fuckin' idiot!” Ken then cursed, reaching out to swat the upside of his head.

“Dumb ass! Why you gotta be so stupid?” Paul asked, mimicking the movement onto the other side of Andy's head. “Hey, then if'n we do somethin' like that to our helmets, it gonna do something like that? Then we shouldn't even think of doin' something like that.”

“Hey, good thinkin' thar, cowboy,” Bridgette said sarcastically, earning a glare for her trouble.

“That's it, then! We need air conditioning inside our helmets,” Larson said with a tired sigh, waving the butt of Ian's sniper rifle to try and generate some air against his face.

“I think our duty's done here,” Cooney said, digging out a cigar from his top vest pocket. “Our orders should be coming in, soon. Let's head out away from this area. Gives me the creeps.”

“I'll call us in,” Barry said, walking with him.

“What a fucking idiot,” Ian muttered, shaking his head as he walked past Andy and Sam, speaking loud enough to be heard. “Why did he spend all that time in the med building if he was going to do something as stupid as this? He should have been training on how to use his damn equipment.”

Sam glared after him, Andy giving a low sigh. “It's true, Sam,” he muttered quietly. “It was stupid on my part.”

“He doesn't have to talk like that—!”

“It's okay, Sam. I did a really stupid thing.”

“Quit blaming yourself!” Sam cried. “Maybe it was a stupid move, but it could have happened to anybody! It could have happened to Ken if Ken had stayed behind like he was supposed to.”

Ken spun at the sound of his name and shoved Sam away. “Don't you talk shit about me! I heard that!”

“Don't touch him,” Andy growled, shoving at him.

“You should have been there with him!” Sam growled, inserting himself between them. Ken spit at his boot, chaw spilling over the laces. Both blondes bent over in disgust as Sam moved to wipe his boot clean, Ken stalking off.

“Don't take it too personally,” Adam muttered to Ian, falling in step with him. “You act like it happened to you.”

“If they could get inside our heads like that, think of what they could do!” Ian snapped back at him, snatching his rifle from Larson, who slunk away quickly. “They could have used him to sabotage base! Infiltrate Center!”

“But they didn't. There's something he knows and they want that. So shut the fuck up already.”

Ian gave him a dirty look and trudged on ahead.

“You guys married?” Paul asked Adam curiously. “Cuz ya'll act like it. Like a married couple.”

Adam lifted an eyebrow, the older twin giving a snort before hurrying up to Ken so that he was able to smack him upside the helmet, starting a scuffling match. He then paused in place, to wait as the others caught up to them. He knew and saw that Andy was trying to ignore him. But this excruciating torment in not knowing what had changed between them was too much.

“Lars, turn us off, please. Private convo,” he muttered, Larson flipping him a curious look before doing so. He then reached out and caught Andy's arm, the blond quickly jerking away, Sam giving them both a startled look. “Sam, go on ahead.”

“What's going on—?” Sam started to ask before Andy snarled low, “Don't you touch me.”

“Sam, go on ahead. I need to talk to him,” Adam repeated, grabbing and holding tightly onto Andy, the other unable to shake him off while he was in uniform.

Sam hesitated, noting his older brother's face. He started to shake his head to reject the order before Adam shot him a warning expression. Andy noticed that he was putting Sam in an awkward position and said quickly, “It's okay, Sam. Do as he says. I—It's nothing. We're fine.”

With a frustrated expression, one that told them he didn't believe their words, their actions speaking louder, Sam slowly pushed ahead. Once he was out of hearing distance, Adam looked down at Andy before releasing his grip slightly. “I don't even know what happened to…to cause you to look at me like that. I must have did something stupid.”

Andy felt his chest constrict. He saw flashes of memory of that night. He wanted to hide away from Adam's intense stare and wondered why he had to do so.

He swallowed hard, reaching up to adjust Jensen's helmet. “You drank too much,” he said slowly, having trouble eking the words out. “You mistook me for someone else.”

Adam released him. He felt some of his anxiety lift. “You were drunker than I.”

“So it's my fault?” Andy snapped at him, aghast. “It's my fault, because I had been drinking that entire time? If that's so, why take advantage of it?”

Adam thinned his lips. He looked down at the rifle he held in both hands and belatedly remembered Ken's warning. But as he glanced over, he saw that the younger twin was busy getting separated from his brother, their squad swarming all over them with shouts and exasperated lunges.

“I didn't mean that,” he said slowly. “But…maybe you don't remember things clearly. You were in and out of it.”

Frustrated, Andy found that it was true. But it felt like Adam was shifting the blame onto him. Feeling his chest constrict with just the sheer torment of having to revisit the incident, he blurted, “You wouldn't stop when I told you to.”

“So are you saying I raped you? You were all over me, too, Andy. I remember that much.”

In consternation, hating how every word was delivered to cause him to doubt himself, Andy turned to walk away, feeling even more idiotic with every step. Adam grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

“Are you accusing me of something like that?” Adam asked, holding steady as Andy yanked back.

“Let go of me,” Andy then said hoarsely. “Let go of me. I don't want to talk to you.”

“I want things to be clear, Andy. Are you accusing me of raping you?”

“You wanted me to be him—!”

“You are saying that I directed you to be someone else?”

“You thought I was him!”

“Then you're mad because it wasn't you that I wanted.”

“You are a fucking asshole.”

“It upsets you that I wanted you to be someone else.”

“You are turning things around in your favor!” Andy heard himself shout at him, Adam tightening his grip so that he'd lower his voice.

Quite aware that people were looking back at them, Adam shifted so that their faces couldn't be seen. “You are upset. I did something horrible to you. I hurt you. I don't have any clear memory of that night, either. That's why I don't drink.”

“You came to me upset over him!” Andy exclaimed shakily, forcing himself to lower his voice. His eyes burned, and he heard his voice shake. He started to doubt what had happened and what he remembered. “You came to me upset over him and said his name and you didn't stop. You—you forced it, and—and I couldn't—you wanted him and you didn't even try to—!”

“You were just as drunk,” Adam insisted quietly. “You were just as drunk, if not more, for drinking all day. I shouldn't have, but I did want to see you. I did, I wanted you. I wanted to sleep with you and spend time with you, and how this—this other person came into the picture is something beyond my control! Perhaps I did make a mistake—I regret it, all right?”

“You are blaming me for what happened! You're making me out to be this—! This drunken slut—!”

Adam shook his arm harshly, causing him to stop, but Andy was entirely upset. He felt like attacking the bigger man for reducing him to such a girlish mess, but all his upset and frustrations, once brought to surface by Adam's calmly spoken words, seemed to be buried again under his own blame.

“I haven't thought of you like that,” Adam hissed at him. “If I pushed you against your will, then I take the blame for it. I don't remember it, I don't have any memory of it—but you were drunk, too, Andy.”

“Let go of me, I don't even want to talk to you—!”

“Andy, don't push me away over this. Let me at least apologize—even if it's—even if I—on every level, I hurt you. For you to act like this, it's obvious I did something completely unforgiving, so at least let me apologize—!”

“Apology—! So, what, your conscience can be fixed? How do you think I feel knowing that you want him when you look at me?” Andy gave a low sound of anguish. “I liked you.”

Adam opened his mouth to acknowledge this, pulling away from him, feeling conflicted when he saw movement at his peripheral vision.

Ken used the butt of his gun against his exposed face. Before he could follow through with another move, Adam stumbling back under impact, Jensen stepped in to administer a smooth combination move of a kick that sent Ken's legs out from underneath him, and a throw that tossed the enraged soldier away. By the time the others realized what had happened, Jensen settled himself between them, looking over at his teammate in concern.

Adam wiped at the blood that gathered at his lip, feeling entirely out of sorts and pained by the unexpected hit. Ken was pushing himself up from the ground to attack again when Jefferson flung himself at him, knocking him to the ground, Paul joining in with a holler of cheer. The pair of them pinned Ken to the ground, the younger twin howling in rage, cursing and tossing dirt in Adam's direction.

Andy looked away from Ken's actions, bewildering to him by its cause, and looked at Adam again. Before he could say anything, Ian shoved him away, Jensen reacting quickly to catch his arm before he could hit the dirt, inserting himself between them to keep Ian from attacking any further.

“Back off, dick-sucker! You caused enough trouble as it is!” Ian snarled at him. “We received order from Center, and it won't matter if you have that thing on, so return Jensen's helmet to him. He's more valuable than you are. ”

Andy gave him a startled look, but he followed through with the order and stumbled away, just wanting to be away from it all. Sam moved after him with a call, but Andy ignored him, causing the younger blond to look after him in dismay.

“That wasn't cool,” Jensen muttered, replacing his helmet while the sniper gave him a withering look, turning to see if Adam were okay. Adam shook off his concerned touch as he stormed away, Ken shouting threats after him before Paul smashed his face into the dirt to shush him.

“Well, we end another interesting night with a bang,” Larson commented cheerily. “No one can accuse us of being boring now.”

“What the hell was that all about?” Bridgette complained. “Not that I don't like seeing guys being beat up, but, really—what the hell was that about?”

Barry snorted, looking over at Cooney with a pointed expression. Cooney snuffed his cigar out with a snort of his own. The new medic shook his head, dragging out his smokes. “Wow,” he muttered. “More inside fightin' than being in a room full of East and South.”

“Keeps me young,” Cooney confessed, Barry chuckling. To those listening, he said, “Match up. We're meetin' in the middle. This one's under us until base decides what to do with him.”

“There are other things we could be doing right now,” Ian muttered. “I don't see why we have to waste our time dealing with someone like that.”

“He wore a uniform like you, Peters. We do our best when it comes to one of us,” Cooney admonished him lazily.

“I don't do shit for faggots.”

“Ouch,” Barry commented. “Aren't you supposed to be the Golden Boy?”

“Shit.”

“You're such an asshole, Peters,” Bridgette complained, kicking his heel. “Looks like we aren't getting any help from you, team.”

“I'm not slacking on my job! I'm just saying there are other things we could be doing right now!”

“Like what?”

“Shut up, Neilson.”

Bridgette moved to shoot him before Cooney shoved the barrel of her weapon upward.

“Quit makin' the demon with ovaries try to shoot you to escape the assignment, Peters. Let's go, kids. Murphy, quit sulking around over there and get over here. Powers, you bitch, quit crying around. Powers 2, leave him alone and quit laughing at him. Byrons, wipe that blood from your face before you give us all AIDS, and I'd rethink that decision to sabotage your med-skills just cuz you're pissed, Hill. Let's go, people, be happy! We might have action tonight! Aren't you excited you might be able to shoot people?” Cooney then asked, clapping his gloved hands together.

At the mutters that came from the two teams, both of them eyeing each other evilly, he snorted.