A/N: I guess I should say I don't own the rights to anything (unfortunately), but enjoy anyway...

It may start out a little slow, but I hope it'll get better.

Rated for language and violence.


Chapter 1: Just Call Me Tex


Sara Dupree was a Marine. She joined the special operations after a few years of military service...more specifically, she joined the Rapid Response Tactical Squad.

Sara was childhood friends with the Grimm twins. More so with Sam then John, Sam being the only other girl in the neighborhood. The twins were a little less than a year older than Sara. The three were inseparable and when the twins' archeologist parents died, Sara was with them.

Through the years, Sara developed a crush on John; naturally, she never told anyone, especially Sam.

When Sara joined the Marines, and ultimately RRTS, she was surprised to find out that John was also in RRTS.

Sara could remember her arrival to the RRTS team like it was yesterday.

Walking into RRTS headquarters around mid-afternoon, the first person (people, actually) she ran into was John and a buff guy in cargos and a muscle shirt.

"Sara Dupree?" the muscle guy asked, as she walked closer to the two.

"Yeah, that's me," she said, stopping and tossing down the bag she had slung over her shoulder. She pulled her shoulder-length, brunette hair into a high, tight bun.

Muscle guy subtly looked Sara up and down, but it didn't go unnoticed by her. She felt like he was checking her out.

"I'm Sarge. I've been told you already know Reaper," muscle guy said.

"That's correct, sir," she replied, making eye contact with John.

After a nod, Sarge continued.

"Might as well meet the rest of the team."

Sarge looked Sara over again before turning and walking down the hall.

John took the few steps toward Sara and extended his hand to her, but Sara thought a handshake wasn't good enough. She gave him a quick hug instead. They were still friends after all.

Picking up her bag, the two walked in the direction that Sarge went off to.

"Reaper, huh?" Sara asked quietly, with a grin.

"Yeah, fitting don't you think?" John replied with his own question.

"Definitely."

They caught up with Sarge at the top of some metal stairs. Sarge went down the stairs first, followed by John, then Sara.

Sara looked around the room as she went down the stairs. There were eight military issued cots; four on each side of the room. Next to each cot was a tall, thin locker.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sarge called the team together. John passed Sarge and joined the others. Sara tossed her bag by the end of the stairs, and went to stand next to Sarge, but stood just out of arms reach.

"All right, listen up. This is Sara Dupree, our newest member to the team. Be nice and introduce yourselves," Sarge instructed, then went back up the stairs.

Sara watched Sarge leave, then she turned back to the other six.

"Duke."

"Destroyer."

"Portman."

"Mac."

"Goat."

"Reaper."

"No kidding," Sara said, sarcastically, to John.

The one named Portman stepped forward and started circling Sara.

Sara didn't move; she just brought her left hand up to hold her right arm by the elbow.

"You got a nickname. Or should we give you one, Sweetheart?" Portman asked.

Sara looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. She then looked at John with a raised eyebrow.

Sara, John, and Sam created a system of looks when they were younger. It was their secret form of communication. Sara wanted to bring that communication back.

With the raised eyebrow, she was merely asking "can I?"

When she got the nod from John, she slowly grinned and let go of her elbow. Portman had stopped behind her.

In the next instant, Sara brought her right elbow up to Portman's face and hit hard. She then elbowed him in the stomach even harder, using her left hand to bring more force, and ultimately, more pain.

As Portman was doubled over in pain, Sara did a spin move where she crouched down and spun with one leg out. She successfully hit Portman's ankles, and sent him sprawling on his back to the floor. He groaned as his nose started to bleed.

Sara took slow steps over to Portman and made one more to step over him. When she had one foot on either side of his body, she brought her right knee down on his chest, right below his sternum.

He grunted and tried to knock her off, but failed miserably.

"Stop squirming," Sara demanded forcefully.

Portman stopped moving.

"Look. I didn't join the Marines, let alone RRTS, for the harassment. You call me that again or touch me in any suggestive way, I'll give you more than just a bloody nose. You'll have two black eyes, a broken nose, missing teeth, a broken jaw, a concussion, bruised, if not broken, ribs, a twisted spine, internal bruising...oh, and how can I forget...?" Sara reached into her left boot and pulled out an intricately decorated hunting knife.

She spun it in her hand, then looked back at Portman.

"You'll lose something you might need later in life," she threatened, then turned to the other five. "That goes for the rest of you as well."

She emphasized her point by looking all of them (except John) straight in the eyes, and waved the knife in their direction.

"Got it?" she asked, turning her attention back to Portman.

He nodded quickly, so Sara got off of him and offered him a hand to help him up.

Portman looked at her hand suspiciously, but accepted it.

Sara pulled him to his feet, and he put his hand on his nose to try and stop the bleeding.

"Shit," he mumbled, and walked over to his cot for a tissue.

"Damn, girl. Glad you're on our side," Duke said.

Sara let out a small laugh.

"So you got a nickname or what?" Destroyer asked her.

"Sure do. Just call me Tex," she said, with a dramatic bow.

"Why 'Tex'?" Portman asked, coming back to join everyone else, clutching a tissue to his nose.

Sara opened her mouth to reply, when someone beat her to it.

"Because she's an accurate shot. One-hundred percent of the time."

Turning to the voice, Sara saw Sarge standing on the last step.

"That's why," she said to the others, indicating Sarge's response with her thumb.


A/N: Possitive feedback would be nice...no flames, please.