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Gears of Denial	By : BlueBastard Category: +G through L > Gears of War Views: 2605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from Gears of War or its characters. Just playing with stuff

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
-o-PRESENT-o-

"Brilliant move smartass. Spoutin' shit thinkin' you're dead." Baird ranted, "Next time, why don't I wait 'til I've already bled to death first? No, wait. 'Til I'm six feet under. Obviously THAT woulda' been the right move."

He couldn't take it.

There was no torture he couldn't endure. No physical pain or trauma that he hadn't already experienced. But this, THIS was killing him.

The pure monotony and boredom of absolutely NOTHING happening.

"Hey. Hey! You! Yeah, you, ya ugly sonovabitch! What the hell am I doing here?" Baird demanded of the grub standing outside his dank cell, leaning against the bars since his hands were bound uselessly behind his back, "Do I have the letters 'POW' tattooed to my freakin' forehead? Can I just fight for more than a few months WITHOUT getting abducted by you and your equally ugly ass buddies?? Hey? Hey, don't ignore me! Can't you see I'm drivin' myself bat-shit crazy in here, talkin' to myself?"

When the drone didn't even blink a scaly eye in his direction after the first -disinterested- glance, Baird sighed loudly and dropped himself onto the hard rock bench. Even if his hands weren't tied behind his back, there was no way he'd sit on the ground. Looked like something took a shit, a piss and then died on this floor.

And not... necessarily in that order.

Damon frowned at the ground, no longer really seeing it.

THIS is exactly why he hated not having something to do. He was the type of guy to just say what was on his mind when it came up. Not all fancied or prettied up in a useless concern for others' feelings. It was truth. It was real. Truth hurts. Shit happens. End of story.

But this downtime... when Baird had nothing to keep his hands or valuable brain busy... he actually started rehashing shit.

A dangerous past time for a man who hated his past.

-o-TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO-o-

"Uncle Lou, why don't my parent's love me?" Blonde, unruly bangs covered blue eyes too bright for such a young age.

"Now what kind of question is that for a 6 year old to ask?" His uncle had asked, mustache twitching into a grin.

"They never have time for me, Uncle Lou. They just... buy me things..." Damon stated, disgruntled.

Granted, it was usually state of the art tech gadgets and toys not even out in the market yet, but what did that matter to a lonely child?

"Well... Damon, that's how your parents show they love you." His Uncle rationalized evenly, his posture on the chair sagging a little at the sadness for his young nephew.

Sudden anger flared as the blonde threw his train on the ground, "Well I don't want it! Not any of it!"

The toy shattered into pieces on the plush rug, parts bouncing to the far corners of the room in an attempt to escape the little boy's wrath.

"Damon..." Uncle Lou admonished.

But the blonde managed to look contrite in his stony silence. He gathered the broken pieces, without once glancing at his Uncle. In less than a minute, he had the toy train back together again and running on the tracks spanning his room.

"Damon..." Lou's voice was tinted with awe now, "Where did you- who taught you to do that?"

"No one," The six year old replied, forgetting his pact of silence. He could never stay mad long at his Uncle anyway. The boy shrugged as he replied, "I just know how. That and I've been watching you at the shop, Uncle."

The way the boy's face lit up wrenched his Uncle's old heart.

"I want to fix things. Build things. When I grow up." Damon stated carefully, knowing sometimes grown ups had a tendency to misunderstand what he meant.

"I'll make sure to speak with your father. I'm sure you'll make a fine engineer, Damon."

Baird beamed.

But he never did know if his uncle had spoken to his dad. Or if it would have changed a thing anyway.

His uncle had died shortly afterwards. Leaving Baird to long years of bullying and acute loneliness, despite the monetary wealth of his family.

Baird had learned young.

You gotta look out for yourself.

-o-FIFTEEN YEARS AGO-o-

They were twice his size. And there were two of 'em. But like hell he'd go down lookin' like a sissy.

He was actually handling the sorry-ass excuses of Gear recruits when they started playing dirty. Now normally, Baird didn't mind doing what needed to be done. Especially to defeat a bigger opponent. But there were two strikes to this simple equation. One: there were already two of 'em quadruple his own size, if you put 'em both together. And two: Damon was on the losing end.

"No wonder your mamas threw you in the compost. She couldn't stand to look at your cowardly mugs, ya ugly sons a bitches." Baird coughed, seeing stars from the low blow to the back of his head.

"We'll see who has the uglier mug by the end of this." The bigger soldier grabbed him in a strangle hold, dragging the blonde to the nearest stall.

Shit. Baird could see where this was going REAL fast. Against two of them, beaten up as he already was, he could hardly stop it. But that didn't stop him from running his mouth.

"This a freakin' competition? Sorry fellas. Both of you win gold by default. They just couldn't decide. Congratulations on winning the ugliest fuckers of the year award. They sent invitations to your moms, but you know. They couldn't stand the sight of either of you." Baird stated smartly, receiving another blow to the face for that.

Damon couldn't help the inward cringe as the toilet bowl loomed before him. The thought of how many dirty asses and bowel movements flashed through his mind. He ran the numbers and it was not pretty.

He began struggling, banging into the walls of the narrow stall as he grunted, "Fellas, C'mon. Is this REALLY necessary? I was potty trained at an early stage. Which is more than I can say for the two of you-"

"Shut that pretty little mouth of yours and take it, prick." The man outside the stall growled.

"Woah- hey, you did not just take it there." Baird grunted, still struggling as the ugly wax mustache man tried to shove his face down into the bowl, "Normally, you'd hafta take me to dinner first. Though no amount of steak dinners would make me say yes to either of your ugly fuckin' hides!"

"Just do it already!" Brown crew cut guy yelled in frustration.

"I'm tryin'." Mustache man grunted, surprised at the wiry strength in the smaller man. He kicked the back of one leg, forcing the blonde down to his knee, "This guy won't hold still!"

"No really? Here, let me make it real simple. Let me just stick my own head in there and flush it myself!" Baird snarled, gripping the bowl with both hands and locking his arms. He wasn't in fuckin' grade school. The first and last time he had ever had a swirly. Those 5th graders paid dearly for that. It made the two week detention worth it.

"Hey man, step aside. I need the john." A deep voice rumbled outside the stall.

Great.

Baird would've sighed if he had the breath to spare.

A witness to his humiliation.

Perfect.

Exactly what he needed. Right.

At least the door was fuckin' closed.

"There's other free stalls. Pick one." Crew cut growled.

"I did. I want this one." The deeper voice stated, as though it were a fact of life, and no one dare dispute it.

"Hey, pal. I don't need your fuckin' help. So why dontcha jus' mosey along and mind your own goddamn business?" Baird growled, still struggling between the bowl and the fat ass behind him.

"Don't sound like it, from where I stand." The new Gear wasn't convinced.

"Then stand in some other goddamn place, jus' beat it." Baird snapped.

The other man just laughed, a deep carefree one that surprised Baird as much as the other two numbnuts.

A short scuffle was heard outside and a slam against the lockers. A groan followed.

In two seconds flat the door busted open and the mustache man was pulled off of Baird like he didn't weigh 200 lbs.

Baird stood and turned to stare at the newcomer incredulously. He was a large, black man that was ripped like a fuckin' gorilla.

Mustache man was down for the count.

Dusting himself off, Baird pushed past the man to the sink, washing his hands as he snarled, "Said I didn't need any help. Not some goddamn charity case."

The big man just laughed wholeheartedly once more, "Man, you funny."

Turning to glare, Baird retorted, "Yeah hilarious. Some big fuckin' comedian."

The big black dude just stared at him for a little bit, big grin stuck to his face. His eyes almost seemed to flash with understanding. At the hurt buried deep beneath Baird's sharp sarcasm. It was... different.

Usually Baird just put people off with his attitude. But he just couldn't shake this guy.

"Name's Cole." The muscled Gear smiled bigger, if that was even possible, and stuck his hand out like the blonde even wanted to be introduced in the first place.

Baird looked at the hand presented to him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. What was this guy's angle? He searched those mocha eyes for a moment under his furrowed glare. But the big guy seemed truly genuine. A rarity these days. Something big was broiling in the horizon. Baird could feel it in his bones. It might not be a bad idea to have at least one ally when the crap hit the fans.

"Baird." The blonde replied simply, turning back to the sink, "Now put that away. I don't know where it's been."

Cole merely chuckled as he relaxed his arm, managing to take no offense at all.

"And don't expect for any return favors. I told you to stay the hell outta it." Baird griped, drying his hands.

"Hey, next time you wanna take a shower in shit, be my guest." Cole grinned broadly.

"Good. Baby steps, but I knew you'd get there." Baird turned to look over Cole once more. Still not sure what to make of the man.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" Cole asked incredulously.

"No shit, Sherlock. Why the fuck should I?"

"Augustus Cole."

"..."

"Cole Train? Number 83?"

"You gonna start spoutin' shit that makes sense any time soon?" Baird questioned in irritation.

"I played Cougars for Thrashball. MVP."

"Sorry. DGAS. Don't give a shit. 'Sides, I'm a Dolphins kinda guy." Baird smirked.

It was the first, relatively friendly expression anyone had been able to pull from him in a long time. And Cole caught that, if the huge beaming grin on his face was any indication.

"Well, shit baby. Been a long time since I ran into someone who wasn't a fan. Kinda nice change of pace."

"Fan's just short for crazy fanatic idiocy." Baird scoffed, heading out the restroom. As Cole tagged along, the blonde started to feel a warm fuzzy feeling. Not that he was goin' soft or anything. Hell no. But he never really... had a friend before. Or fuck, even an acquaintance that would stick around long enough to endure a shot of Baird's one-of-a-kind abrasiveness.

As they headed out the door together, Baird stated, "And Cole? Don't ever call me baby again."

"Sorry Baird baby. Jus' gonna have to deal wid it, 'cause that's just how the Cole Train rolls."

"Knew this was a mistake. Big big freakin' mistake."

"See? That's your problem right there. You're a glass half empty man."

"No, I'm the guy who tells you where to shove the fuckin' glass." Baird retorted, "Now shove off the psycho babble and let's get somethin' to eat."

"Now you're talking baby! I smelled something good on my way past the mess hall! Like ribs. Mmm mm mmm."

Baird stared at the man like he was insane, "What world are you livin' in? I smelled the same slop we get every day."

"You gotta live a lil', little man. It's the little things in life."

"Yeah? Well you're crazy."

"Thanks. And you're an asshole. We good?" Cole asked, face full of white teeth.

Baird snorted. Then laughed.

Man, he hadn't laughed in years.

-o-TWO YEARS AGO-o-

"Where the fuck's Rojas?" Damon scoured the ramble of Gears that had come like a shit storm down on the Grubs that pinned them down.

They were late.

And this resonator was fuckin' heavy.

Cole just looked at him, then shook his head sadly.

Fuck.

Baird glared off to the side, noting the three Gears. One he recognized. Lieutenant Kim. But who the fuck were the other two? And why had they survived when Rojas hadn't?

-o-o-o-

"You're Baird." The rough voice sent a shiver down the hardened Gear's spine. The fuck? How had the guy even known his name?

"Yeah, that's right asshole. Question is, who the fuck are you?" Baird groused, stepping up to the man. Toe to toe.

This guy looked like he was born thinking others would fall in line. Fuck that shit. He better not expect the blonde to just keel over and 'yes, sir' him. Not Baird.

A nasty ass scar trailed the weathered man's right cheek. The Gear truly was not one to be messed with, if his earlier fighting skills were anything to go off of. But just 'cause he was a strong fighter, didn't mean he wasn't screwy in other aspects. Those sharp blue eyes narrowed at Baird's unnecessary approach, almost asking if he had a death wish. But then there was a flicker of something else.

A hint of... approval?

Then the Berserker made itself known and Baird's ice ran cold.

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Gears of Denial