Sister wasn’t one to wax existential about life and death and the universe. You could fly through one of them in a spaceship. Whatever. Sometimes she wondered about stuff though. Like why the mean guy who was from Red Base and spoke Ricky Martin had shot her in the face like that. Jerk. Sister traced a fingertip from her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, letting it stop to rest on her lower lip as she pouted at the memory.
Everything was still intact. There’d been nothing damaged but her armor when she woke up underground - in caves where she may or may not have given birth to an alien baby or two between points A and B of regaining both consciousness and lucidity. The details were murky. She’d left the little honking abominations where they were because, you know… If you love something let it go… If you’re moderately disturbed by something throw it away as far as you possibly can… Nature had a way of sorting these things out…. One of those.
Once topside, everything had been pretty quiet. No mean guy and that was cool, he was mean. No old guy and that was cool, he was gross. Still no Grif and that was lame, she missed him.
Some guy named Donut was there. He’d been really nice and stuff. He’d helped her out of her damaged armor and into some clean clothes that were way cuter anyway. He’d helped her clean the thick layer of dust off Blue Base’s long-unused innards. He’d slept over on the nights when she was feeling especially lonely - which only made sense; he was on Blue Team. This was his base too… Right? Right.
Sister and Donut had late night raids with glowsticks and jello shots. They did each other’s nails and hair and occasionally dressed up like sexy pirates to patrol the area. Sometimes they had tea parties.
So war was a lot like high school. With tea parties.
All Sister’s stuff was gone. Donut was pretty well-stocked on most anything a girl could ask for, but it was still pretty disconcerting. It wasn’t just her stuff. Her whole room was missing. There was just an empty, similar-looking room where it used to be.
Sister stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles. She twizzled a blade of grass between her fingertips as she looked up at the sky and at the distant cliff tops in her periphery. This place looked pretty different too. It made her wonder, but… life, death, spaceships, whatever.
“Hey, girl. Drink?”
“Hell yeah.” Sister sat up. Donut stood in the grass beside her, holding a long-stemmed glass and a bottle of wine. She took the bottle. She’s really lucked out with Donut. Seriously. Before she’d even come here, he’d totally been on her list of things to take to a deserted island.
2. More alcohol.
3. A gay B.F.F.
Of course, at the time, Sister had assumed that you were allowed to fuck gay B.F.F.s in crisis situations. Because one gay guy and one pansexual girl who could ejaculate - if they got it on, that was basically like two lesbians doing it. Knowing what she knew now, Sister might have replaced number 3 with drugs or even more alcohol… or Tucker. But Donut was still pretty cool.
“So have you ever been shot in the face before?” Sister asked with a sidelong glance to Donut as he sat down beside her on the hill. The sun was setting… or rising. One of the two. Neither happened very often.
“Hmm.” Donut sipped at his wine while Sister took a pull from the bottle. “I’ve been shot… never really in the face exactly. Thank God… Oh! My head got a grenade stuck to it once… and another time, I’m told a spaceship landed on me.”
“That’s cool. I landed a spaceship once. I also got shot in the face.”
“But, I guess it’s okay. I mean, I’m okay. I’m usually okay though. At church, the minister used to say that I was one of God’s favorites because I had a great rack. He’s probably right.”
“Once I got run over by an elephant while I was crossing the freeway and another time I got trampled by a car while me and my brother were visiting mom at the circus. Once I was ice skating and got trapped under the ice for a while… Oh, oh and a few times, I’m pretty sure I’ve been dead from alcohol poisoning until the paramedics showed up. The paramedics were really cool. They used to send me cards at Christmas. I miss those guys.”
“How was dying?”
“Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.”
“That makes sense… Wait, what?”
“What?” Sister leaned against Donut’s shoulder, reaching across him to refill his glass.
Later Sister and Donut went back to Blue Base where they played loud music and set several things on fire. They got drunk and slept in and went on patrol the next day or maybe the next. They didn’t see anything or anyone. They never did.
“This sucks,” said Sister over tea. “I came out here so I wouldn’t be alone anymore.”
“I’ve told you,” replied Donut. “I’m a real person. I promise.”
“Yeah, well Dave Matthews said the same thing… and I’m ninety percent sure he was lying.”
And then they watched a movie and then they shot at some stuff and then they got drunk and then Sister raided the medicine cabinet and then they sat around talking for a while and then they fought gross old person zombies from Red Base and then they had cake and then they went to sleep… except, maybe, half of that didn’t actually happen.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Sister raised her head, squinting her eyes against the light and the pounding throb of a nasty hangover. “What? Who?” She propped herself up on her elbows and stared blankly at the man standing over her for several long moments. “Hey, I know you. You’re that cop.”
The cop didn‘t seem to recognize her immediately. He just continued staring down at her until - “Oh, God, no… Where’s your armor?”
“I dunno,” slurred Sister. “Around here somewhere, maybe.”
The cop sighed and shook his head. “That figures. All right. Get up and come help the rest of your team. Don‘t ask me how, but the jeep we got here in is stuck on a rock… which is much worse and way more impossible than it sounds. Trust me.”
“Blue Team is back? Seriously? Woohoo!“
“Right Blue Team is here. You’re part of Blue Team… I think. Get up. Get to work.”
“Work?“ Sister rolled awkwardly from her bedspread as Donut came awake, shoving her arms and leg off and sitting up on the floor. “What…” he groaned, trailing off when he realized they weren’t alone. “Who are you?”
“Who are- Oh…”
“Your voice sounds famil- You!”
“I know, right? I hate cops too.” Sister patted Donut on the arm, stood, and trudged from the room. “I’m going to help the team now!” she called as she stepped outside, making her way across the empty stretch of field. Screw the heartfelt reunion. There were probably some comfortable beds over at Red Base.