Complete Again (TomTord Mpreg)

Five

Four weeks passed after the rumored tantrum of Red Leader, and Lars hadn't been willing to confront Tord, mainly out of fear.

Lars had his own problems to deal with, after all.

Paul and Pat had been acting strange, awkward even, in every interaction. Paul was himself, but Patryck was so unbelievably tense. At all times, his shoulders were up, stiff, his eyes always darting from Paul's gaze to the floor.

It was weird hanging out with them, so nowadays Lars just kept to himself. He felt alone, despite living in a base with hundreds of other people. He didn't know why everyone was acting so strangely.

The first Thursday of November started as any other; Paul had woken up both Patryck and Lars by jumping on them, Lars ate with his friends - Tord not touching his food while the others happily ate and talked - Everything was normal, until his robotic leg started malfunctioning.

By mid-afternoon, the usually lively addition to his body was simply stuck in place, dragging along with his body like a hunk of lead. The power core in his foot was still glowing its soft blue through its vents, but the thing simply refused to move.

Lars lugged himself to the Engineering and Repair room, ready to ask a beloved friend for help.

But that friend didn't seem to be alone.

There was yelling and crying coming from behind the heavy door. Lars felt a pang of fear, pushing open the door and hobbling in without hesitation.

Paul and Pat were standing a foot or so apart, the room around them in total disarray - blueprints torn off the walls, Paul's swivel chair toppled, the aforementioned soldier's nose oozing blood.

"I can't do this anymore!" Patryck yelled, tears streaming down his face. "You're too fucking much, I just can't take it!"

"I'll show you something to take!" Paul growled, grabbing Patryck by the wrists, the Polish man tensely trying to jerk free as Paul walked him backwards. "You treat me like I'm a child!" They finally hit the wall, Paul forcing Patryck's wrists into the brick. Pat groaned, presumably as Paul squeezed his wrists even tighter.

"Maybe it's because you act like one when you don't get your way!" Patryck spat, leaning forward to get into Paul's face. "I mean, come on! What's this?!"

"You fucking punched me, I'm keeping your hands away!" Paul huffed, dragging Patryck's hands up the wall, knocking more papers and blueprints loose with the Polish man's knuckles, forcing his wrists as high as he could lift them.

"Oi, stop!" Lars yelled, teetering on his broken leg.

Paul glanced at Lars for a split second, Patryck using this to his advantage.

Pat heaved his legs up, kicking Paul as hard as he was willing to. Paul fell to the ground with a grunt, Patryck crying out as the pressure left his poor wrists. The lankier man stumbled around Paul's crumpled form, trying to get away before things got worse.

"What's going on?" Lars blurted, still frozen in place, watching Patryck's staggering slow as their eyes met again.

"Stay out of this, Lars." He huffed, rubbing his wrists. He picked up Paul's communicator from the desk, preparing to use it. "It's stupid anyway."

"Don't call anyone!" Paul's breathing was ragged as he forced himself to stand, Lars merely watching as the stockier man hurried back to scuffle.

"I have to, this is a safety issue, I just-" Paul's hands were back on him before he could finish, struggling to wrestle the comm system out of the taller man's hands. He'd already pressed the button, deafening static filling the room. "Tord!" He barked into the microphone before Paul finally forced it out of his hands with a grunt, the device clattering to the floor.