I do not own G.I. Joe, never have, never will. I only own my imagination only. Thank you Pixie Red for Beta reading. Would love comments on this, to continue, make others, or what you think. Thank you.

Scarlett Slipper

Through His Eyes

One brown eye slowly opened, followed by the other. The eyes began to look around, finding only a haze of white, which immediately identified as a hat, a white sailor's hat, which he had nestled inside for the night. He shook his head, remembering the last image of himself, yelling at another image of himself through the mirror on the dresser. He closed his eyes once again, letting out a faint sound from his vocal chords. He knew instantly that the water the night before was indeed not water, but vodka instead. But how would he have known? They were both clear. Right? They just tasted different. But he did not know, no he didn't. Once the flavor had entered his mouth and slid down his throat, there was no way of stopping him from craving more. None. The night became a blur, like others before, and he instantly knew that could mean trouble. Big trouble!

A moan came from the other side of the white hat, a long ghastly sound that he identified instantly. He glanced up, spotting the man sleeping next to him, just when another long exasperated groan followed. The man rolled over, and a hand almost came crashing down on his head, missing it by several inches. He did what he normally would do, like many times before, he bit the hand, hard.

"Yeow!" came an agitated cry from the man, though his eyes barely opened, and his unshaven face still held several crumbs from last night's midnight potato chip raid. The man grumbled about cooked roast chicken, and once again closed his eyes to fall back into deep slumber.

The hand once again went to swat his head, and once again, he grabbed it with a tight grip, sending another agonizing cry through the air, and he knew immediately that the cooked roast chicken would become a scorched fried burnt whatever remains left meal.

"POLLY!" The man screeched, angry and irritated. "Get out of here you crazy parrot! And get out of my hat!"

"Arrk, Shipwreck drunk, Arrk," Polly pointed out, his brown eyes staring at his long time friend. "Smell."

The hand came flying towards his head once again, and he knew it was time to retreat.

"Sailor in trouble!" Polly stated, jumping away from the sailor's hairy arm that smashed on the headboard, sending another agonizing cry in the room, followed by words that the green parrot knew by heart.

"I'm going to have Roadblock make parrot soufflé!" Shipwreck decreed, throwing a pillow at the bird, who flew off the bed seconds before it hit where he had slept.

"Sailor in trouble!" Polly repeated, flying towards the window.

"Get out of here you pile of bird lice!" Shipwreck grumbled, his voice slurred from the night before.

Polly landed on the windowsill, then turned towards the man he had grown to be part of his family for over ten years. "Duke cook sailor's meatballs!" He turned and flew out of the window, heading off for another day filled with adventure, from fighting snakes, to sharing an ice cream cone with his heavyset friend, Bazooka.

Flying through the summer's warm air, he glanced towards the right, spotting most of the Greenshirts, perspiration running down their faces and necks from the sun's hot rays and only wearing their undershirts with light green PT pants, while an normal everyday Beach Head threatened their lives, bellowing in their sweaty faces and who wore his heavy yarned mask over his own face.

He landed on a branch, close to where the masked man paced inches away, yelling at the petrified soldiers, who trembled from his loud voice.

"Come on, girls! Pick up the pace!" Beach Head snarled, watching the men run in place. "You left finishing school, this is the real deal!"

Polly cocked his head, listening, watching patiently. "Move those pretty rears!" He mimicked in the drill instructor's voice.

Greenshirts dropped their jaws, watching their drill instructor stop pacing, and his head turning rapidly around.

"Who the heck said that?" Beach Head bellowed, crossing his arms and staring them all down.

"You...you did, sir," One of the Greenshirts bravely answered.

"I did not, Private Jameson!" Beach Head yelled, turning around, searching for the prankster, vowing to have the culprit scrapping the gum underneath the Mess Hall's tables with his teeth.

Polly glanced down from his branch, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity. "I like staring at my privates!" He announced, in his drill instructor voice.

Beach Head turned around, his eyes flared and his mask puffing in and out from his heavy breathing. "Who the hell said that?" He asked, his voice filled with anger, making everyone standing two feet away, wanting to retreat.

The Greenshirts all gulped, waiting for the explosion, staying quiet, none knowing what to expect.

"Run in place! Double time!" Beach Head ordered. "Until one of you confesses to the crime!"

Polly glanced down at the beating sun covered lower rank soldiers shaking his head, while staying perched comfortably in the shade. He observed the men for a few moments, before he turned; wings spread wide, and flew towards the main building.

An open window on the second floor of the structure caught his attention, and he ventured towards that direction. Entering the room, he landed on the windowsill, glanced around, and finding it unoccupied, he flew to the desk, landing on a pile of files. He noticed that the door to the office was closed, probably locked. His brown eyes caught sight of a pencil, and he instantly lunged for it, grabbing it in his beak, starting to gnaw on the yellow long wooden piece.

Then, another item caught his attention, causing his beak to open, dropping the toy back on the desk with a small thud, and waddle his way to the large silver piece of metal in front of him.

"Arkk!" Polly chirped, bringing down his beak on the small flip switch, that belonged to the silver object. Moving closer, he placed his beak on the round black object before starting to talk into it.

"Morning, ladies and muttonheads. This is Duke, your poster boy leader. On today's schedule, the morning exercises will be replaced by rollerblading in the hallways. Anyone with no rollerblades on their feet, will be severely punished, finding themselves on a one way trip to the Slaughter house." He stopped for a moment, glanced out of the window, watched several members of the team glance around in pure confusion, then he turned back to the microphone. "Today's lunch menu will consist of your choice of plain crackers or cheese crackers, with a side of vodka. And tonight's evening movie feature will be, 'Ten ways to do Cynthia', followed by your own blow up Cynthia dolly, to do as you please. That is all." Ending the announcement with a long burping sound.

His head turned, listening to the laughter outside the window from the intercom's morning announcement. A sound caught his attention from outside the closed door of loud thundering footsteps nearing his position, and two unpleasant voices.

"Whoever that muttonhead is in my office, is going to go on a trip to the Slaughter house alright!" Duke grumbled from outside, a clanging of keys could be heard near the door.

Polly instantly pivoted, jumped off the desk, on to the chair, and then jumped down to the floor, waddling his way under the desk, in the corner, hiding, just when the sound of the creaking door came to his ears. He lowered himself, peeking under the crack, spotting the unhappy looking second and third in command entering the room.

"No one's in here!" Flint stated, glancing around, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary.

"I bet you it's Shipwreck!" Duke grumbled, walking over to his desk, and sitting down in his chair. "Everything looks in order, even the top secret files."

Polly turned his head around, spotting the two huge boots near his position. He stayed quiet, silent, daring not to make a peep, otherwise he knew his demise-- cooked bird a la Roadblock. His ears perked up, catching the conversation now between the field commander and the warrant officer.

"Well, did you tell her yet?" Duke asked, curiosity in his voice.

"No, not yet," Flint fumbled, sitting down in another chair, his boots positioned right next to a yellow beak.

The parrot slowly grabbed hold of the warrant officer's laces, untying the perfect tied boots, then slowly began to tie both the laces together, while continuing to listen to the conversation.

"You need to tell her how you feel," Duke pointed out, shifting his feet, almost hitting the bird from under his desk with one of the boots.

A silent moment passed, then Flint sighed. "What to you want me to say? She's my partner!"

"Tell her--My dear Alison, how I love thee, let me count the ways," Duke joked towards the other man. "Then after she smacks you, kiss her!"

"Sure, Duke," Flint mumbled. "I'll follow the advice from the man who can't say, I love you, Shana."

Duke coughed, then cleared his throat. "Let's go to lunch, shall we?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Chicken," Flint retorted.

Polly glanced up, spotting the first sergeant leave his chair.

"Excuse me?" Duke asked, his voice slightly sharp.

"I meant chicken for lunch," Flint replied, jumping up from his seat only to fall down on the ground with a loud thump.

"Looks like you don't know how to tie shoes, Faireborn," Duke teased, walking around his desk to an grumbling friend.

Spotting the first sergeant bending down to help the warrant officer, the feathered culprit, waddled his way out of the office and headed down the hallway. He peeked inside the first office, spotting a covert operative hard at work.

"My dear Alison, how I love thee, let me count the ways," Polly said in Duke's voice making the woman drop the file in her hand, and snap her head towards the door, only to find air.

Polly huddled behind a garbage pail, watching Lady Jaye jump out of her seat, and head towards the first sergeant's office. He chuckled, then waddled his way to the next door office, peeking once again inside, spotting a counterintelligence agent typing on the computer.

"I love you, Shana," he said in Flint's voice, then quickly hid behind the pail, watching the redheaded woman stop typing, her fingers remaining frozen in midair, and her mouth wide from shock. Then jumping up from her chair and rushing towards the first sergeant's office, spotting the warrant officer inside.

"Arrk, Showtime, Arrk," Polly squawked, now listening to the door slam and the rambling angry tones of the two women Joes towards their commanding officers. With wings spread; he began flying towards the Mess Hall.

He stopped for a second, glancing out the nearby window, spotting his favorite spot for hunting a few good fat worms. Catching a glimpse of the long brown thin animals, he flew to the ground, grabbed several of them with his beak, and then flew back into the busy cafeteria, heading for the corner of the room, where the chef had set the large pot of steaming spaghetti, next to hundreds of crackers, and bottles of vodka. Carefully, not wanting to be spotted, he landed towards the corner, sneaking his way towards the food table.

His brown eyes spotted a batch of red apples close to the pot. Waddling his way under the table, he tugged on the white table cloth, causing the apples to tumble to the ground, and allowing the perfect opportunity to climb upwards from the other side, while Joes rushed to grab the fallen fruit, throw the worms in the pot, and fly out of the mess, before anyone spotted his little green self.

"Worms!" came the shouts from the Mess, perfectly ringing in his ears with, "Oh gross!" and "Shipwreck!!!"

Polly made his way back the offices, passing the first sergeant's office with the arguing four members of the team inside while he continued towards the control room, passing several Joe members rollerblading in the hallways, crashing and falling down to the ground, mumbling that their leader had truly lost it. Entering the large room, he landed on the floor, close to the door, and made his way to the control panel.

"What are you having for lunch, Mainframe?" Breaker asked, chewing on a large pastrami sandwich.

"Cheese crackers, and vodka," Mainframe answered, taking a sip of the liquid.

"What! You're joking, right?" Breaker asked again, his eyes shocked.

"Yeah, it's on today's menu. Check it out," Mainframe answered him, popping several crackers in his mouth.

"Let's get some more," Breaker suggested, jumping from his seat and rushing out of the room, the other Joe in tow.

Polly waddled his way to Mainframe's chair, climbed up and began devouring the crackers. Taking a step backwards, his foot accidentally hit a red button, which caused red lights to blink around the room and hallway, with the alarm, "Cobra attack! Cobra attack!"

Grabbing fast the last cracker in his beak, he flew out of the control room, before Breaker and Mainframe raced back inside to shut off the alarm. He flew towards the rec. room, knowing a certain Joe would be there. Flying inside the large room, he spotted Bazooka eating a huge portion of ice cream.

Landing behind the man, he waddled closer to the chair, carefully. "Hello, Bazooka," he said in Cobra Commander's voice, causing the man to jump out of the chair and bolt out of the room.

"Cobra Commander talked to me!" Bazooka yelled, his voice echoing in the hallway.

"Not again, you numbskull! Yesterday it was the Baroness!" Alpine's voice retorted.

Polly chuckled, jumping on the table, and devoured the ice cream, as always. After the scrumptious treat, he flew to the television, and watched his favorite show, 'Thunderbirds.' During the third episode, someone grabbed the remote, and the screen changed to a wrestling match. Not wanting to be part of the roughhousing, he flew out of the room, heading back to the barracks, watching the sky turn bright orange.

Flying into the window, he spotted his best friend on the bed, on his stomach, still groaning, but this time about punishments. He chuckled, landing to the bed, and nuzzled back into the sailor hat. His eyes slowly starting to close.

"Night, Sailor."

"Night, Polly."