Baby blue (eyes)

2

Immediately, he is met clamoring questions;

"So? Did you find him, sir?" Simmons,

"Well, obviously, he did, man, look what's in his hand," Grif,

"Is Donut okay, sir? He doesn't look very, uh, alive," Simmons,

"Bet you he killed him," Grif,

"What! Why?" Simmons, pitching his voice,

"Just because? I mean he has a hard on for killing me, maybe the same for Donut, or, ooh, maybe he got infected by some brain virus and is out to kill people, or he was a cylon all along, like in Battlestar Galactica, those unaware sleeper agent cylons, y'know?" Grif, words spilling a mile a minute,

"No way! We would have noticed by now!" Simmons, voice defensive in the way that indicated a new debate,

"Would we have really? C'mon, man, would we really have noticed, with all the Blue team drama?" Grif, deadpan,

"Drama is one way to put it," Simmons mutters, and Sarge has had enough.

"Quit yer lollygagging, and quiet up!" he growls, shifting the sling as he feels the boy inside rustle, sleepily, his state of wake - rather, slumber - confirmed by a careful ear hearing his little puffs and huffs, regular and quiet.

"What's in the sash, sir," Grif drawls the sir sarcastically, pointing at the sling, and Sarge damns the fact that Grif is both lazy and yet excellent at picking up on details, and at making Simmons point out and question the same details. He damns, mainly, the fact that Grif uses his ability openly only when least opportune for others, though he pretends it's aimed mainly to bother him, Sarge, and whenever it's absolutely necessary, when nobody else can, will or had noticed.

"Stop blabbering and get back to base," he gruffs, and starts marching over the hill ridge.

"Sir? Did you steal intel from the Blues?" Simmons, ever the savior, hushes conspiratorially, even though the only Blue around is a tot, and even if he was back to normal, Caboose wouldn't care much.

And oh, is Sarge ever so certain that this baby is Caboose. If the clinging to the Epsilon unit hadn't given it away, those big blue eyes, the same dark blue shade as his armor, most definitely confirmed it, alongside the mass of blue armor that bore Caboose's shade of blue, with the pool of clothes the kid had been drowning in, too big for a wee babe, but just snug for adult Caboose.

And Sarge could try not to think about it, but the memory of it was there, the first time he'd seen Caboose without a helmet, tucked away in a cave somewhere in Blood Gulch, tinkering on a box with gears, tears watering his face. Sarge had first thought to go away, leave the Blue to his dirty nefarious blue deeds, but a part of him deep down had pointed out that of all of Blue, this behemoth of a man could only be Caboose, who, for all his big mass, had a heart equal in size and a brain the size of a pea. If the boy was crying, alone, it was likely because it was a problem to do with the other Blues, and Caboose likely wouldn't go to see them about it. Sarge justified his next act as a tentative to get the unit of a man to join Red, and not, he repeats, not an act of concern for the kid - who was not his kid, not like the other Reds, but who could be, if he switched sides, maybe, possibly.

He sits down quietly besides the man, spotting the blue helmet haphazardly tossed into a cave corner on the far left.

"Son," he says, slowly, and pauses, to think, really think.

"What are you making?" he settles for, peering at the box, "I could help, if you need. I'm the best mechanic around, after all! Just look at Lopez."

Well, the boy still isn't looking at him, but the tears have slowed. Sarge pulls out a rag, one of his clean ones that Simmons, bless him, though it did mean he'd gone through his superiors' things, had cleaned the day before. Sarge leant forwards and dried the Blues face. There, he internally monologues, big blue eyes, big round face that seemed not right with the dejected frown it bore, and mussy sweaty brown curly hair.

"There. Now I won't have to feel bad when I shoot you on the battlefield," he jests, and Caboose bears a wobbly grin, "Are you alright, boy?"

Caboose scrunches, momentarily, before answering, "I shot Church," he's quiet, and Sarge already knows of Caboose's accidental team killing tendencies, but waits all the same for the boy to finish, "and they both got mad at me. Stupid Tucker and Church. Then I had a nightmare that they ignored me, like I didn't exist," Sarge grunts, still quiet as he listens to Caboose speak, this perhaps being the longest consecutive sentences he's heard from him, "And I want to be real, I want to exist, be here, and my sisters always said that to be there, you can show your love, and to show love you can give gifts, and I've always like music boxes because they play good noises that make my head go all quiet and nice," and Sarge can hear the wavering of Caboose's voice, gets that the Blue is struggling to put into words what he feels.

"Can I look at it?" Caboose nods, and Sarge peeks at the gears and disks.

"Well, for starters, son, you'll need a different gear and wheel here, or there'll never be enough pressure on the dotted disk to get the crisp notes you want..."

"In a manner of speaking," he grunts back to Simmons, and passes the ridge, on a set path to his own base, now.