Stained (Red vs Blue)

Armour

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I stared up at the ceiling, running a hand through my hair, wishing I had the ability to sleep in for one day out of the year. I glanced over at the basically unused alarm clock resting on the nightstand beside my bed, watching the seconds count up to 7:25. Wake up call is at eight, but most are already up by then, besides Alaska next door, who would prefer to stay in bed for a day-and-a-half, only getting up to eat. I have note needed the thing once since I came to the Mother of Invention. I always wake up before it goes off. It never fails. I guess it could just be stress, anxiety, or just something that has been drilled into my head since I threw myself into the military.

I sighed, pushing myself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the wall. I might wake up before it goes off, but that doesn't mean I get out of bed until it does. Today, though, the allure of freshly made coffee with a little too much sugar and milk sounded much to appealing to even attempt resisting.

I looked across the room, to the worn and scuffed coffee maker in the small kitchenette by the door. It has more character than I do; it's probably seen just as many fights, mostly concerning Iowa and I. I swung my legs off the edge of the bed, feeling the cold rise off the floor before I even made contact with it. When I did, it sent a shockwave of chills up and down my spine. I'd figure I would be used to it by now.

I glanced over at the said woman, debating whether or not if I should wake her before or after I make coffee. "Iowa," I called across the room. She just shifted in her bed, snuggling closer to the wall, as if that would drown out my voice. I smirked, creeping my way over to her, my footfalls silent. I reached for the half-drank water bottle on her nightstand. With precision and speed only she has been able to master, she locked the wrist reaching for the bottle in an iron grip while most of her was still turned against the wall.

"Don't. Even. Think about it,"

"I don't know, I think it's my turn to do it to you," I challenged, arching at brow at my half-asleep partner.

"No. It won't be 'til you can do it without your bed creaking."

"Alaska would take that as an opening to a naughty joke. If you're not careful, I'll start taking pointers," I grinned, walking over to the coffee pot.

"I'll file for a new roommate."

. . .

I dried my dripping hair quickly, trying to get all the water out that I possibly could. I tossed the towel into the already almost full basket and tossed my hair back over my shoulder, running a wire brush through the unruly tangles that plagued me every morning. I pulled it back into a low ponytail, brushing my bangs to one side of my face.  

I haven't seen anyone all morning, save for Iowa as she was in the bathroom with me. The halls, for once, were void of Freelancers and the workers. It’s not like a whole shipload of people can simply disappear in the middle of space. I hope, anyways. If this was a horror movie, I doubt I'd survive very long.

Iowa pulled her hair back as she walked to my side, looking up and down the hall with me. I really wish they wouldn't forget to give the memos to the top two Freelancers. You'd figure we'd be pretty important around here," she laughed, one brow arched.

I chuckled, nodding at her statement. "Don't you know? One and two are always supposed to know everything that's going on here. We don't need the alerts," I joked, striding down the hall with her by my side.

"Training room? Command centre? Hangar?" she asked rhetorically, glancing at me as she shrugged.

I shook my head, "Bathroom?" I replied, rounding the corner, coming to the hall with the training room on one side. I continued forward, heading towards the mess hall, but Iowa paused by the window, looking down into the large room.