Chaos Clubbing

** Author's Note: Before you read this story, you should read the stand-alone story "A Reason to Love". One of the characters in this story comes from that one and her story is a powerful one and worth reading. As with the other numbered stories, you should also read the ones previous to this one as several of the characters come from there also. Additionally, this story is a longer one than we normally write and is a fairly slow burn. Be advised.**

~~ Minneapolis, Minnesota, February 2070 ~~

She stepped off the plane, then sniffed, "Feels like home," she ignored the chill and walked towards the massive man standing beside a much smaller, heavily pregnant woman. "Brother! You came," she greeted, then ignored him to hug Brandi, "Beautiful woman who is far too good for my brother. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, haha," Gerard said, rolling his eyes, "She is too good for me, but she loves me anyway."

Ingrid chuckled as she hugged them. "Our Dad sends greetings and love. He'd come but isn't up for travel. So, I promised to Facetime when you're ready to share the blessing of the little one." At Brandi's look, she shrugged. "I'm not going to be in the hospital room while you're giving birth. I'm not going to get up in your business until you're feeling up to it and ready. I am here. I am willing to help if you need or want me to do something. If you need space, I'll bounce for a bit and go for a walk-about."

"Well, why not, for now, we bring you home and introduce you to some of our friends," Brandi murmured with a smile. She turned to take Gerard's arm. Ingrid grabbed a massive duffle bag as they walked by the conveyor belt. "You can meet Juni and her Mistress and Daddy, she's the cutest thing."

"Anything you want," Ingrid said agreeably, "I'm here, I'm going to enjoy my vacay and pick on my big brother while feasting on American food."

Gerald turned to look at Brandi. "Remind me why we invited her to come again...," he trailed off, the snark dripping heavily from his voice.

"Because I can bench press your weight one-handed," Ingrid pondered, "Or because you missed me? Or maybe it's because Brandi loves me and thinks it's adorable when you pout because of me?"

"Very adorable," Brandi agreed with a soft giggle, then paused with a grunt, her hand touching her stomach. "Ow."

"So, skip the tour?" Ingrid asked as Brandi flinched again. "Maybe a quick jaunt over to the hospital?"

"But I wanted pancakes..." Brandi pouted.

"Maybe later, Kitten," he murmured, leading them out of the airport toward the parking garage.

Ingrid chuckled, "Don't worry, once you're out of the hospital I'll make you pancakes with chocolate chips and whipped cream."

The three of them went to the hospital and inside through the Emergency Room. One of the nurses there called them over. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, my wife is having contractions. We were wondering if we could get her checked. She's not due for another..." Gerald was interrupted by a sharp scream as Brandi clung to his arm to keep from falling.

"Oh, God, that h... Oh... Oh no... No, it's coming. Right now..." she said, shaking her head as she looked down and her pants and the floor underneath her were now soaked.

"So, my niece will be coming on my arrival," Ingrid smirked. "Perfect timing I have." She dropped her duffle bag and grabbed a wheelchair pulling it over. "Gerard, breathe," she instructed as he paled then focused. Brandi was promptly wheeled to the back and Ingrid found a spot on the floor, pushed her duffle bag into it then sprawled out, her head pillowed on it.

It would be several hours before Gerard emerged, "Come see our son."

Ingrid rolled to her feet and picked up her duffle bag, "Congrats brother. Hope you didn't like to sleep." She winked at him, then clasped his shoulder. "I'm happy for you."

Gerald smiled at her with a befuddled, goofy smile. "I have a son..."

"Yes, you do," she smirked and shoulder-checked him, "Just make sure he learns a proper sport, not that weird protective gear rugby Americans are on about."

He blinked and then smirked, "Son, your aunt always wanted you to be a professional bowler..." At her look of disgust, he chuckled.

"Well, at least bowlers have fewer head injuries," she responded thoughtfully, "And no chasing around that stupid white ball either, golf... all the other four letter words were taken." She smiled brightly, "Hello beautiful girl, how are you feeling?"

Brandi smiled wanly, "Hi, I still get pancakes?"

"Definitely, with chocolate chip, whipped cream, and extra hot fudge drizzle," Ingrid said easily and smiled down at Brandi and the baby she was holding. "Look at that, Momma, you made a cute little potato. He looks like my brother, poor thing."

Brandi burst into soft giggles, "Your brother is very handsome."

"Don't worry, I know a place to get big sticks." She said with a nod. Gerald opened his mouth, then stopped to look at Ingrid in question, she gave him a smirk. "I never said you were ugly, I just remember those creepos that would hang around panting for your..." she ran her eyes over him, then winked, "Package. Now, I'm going to scoot so Momma can rest." She held up a hand, "Fret not, I can get an uber and a hotel. When you've recovered, we'll readdress."

Brandi huffed, "You're just like your brother, all calm, cool, and collected. It's not fair."

"We're Scandinavian. We're all like that. It's our national genetic trait. Kind of like unhealthy relationships with gun ownership is for America," she said deadpan.

"Americans do like their guns," Brandi agreed.

Ingrid stepped forward and kissed her forehead, "Rest, sleep. I'll visit on the morrow. Gerard, rest, sleep, you can be growly mc growl bear tomorrow." She winked and clapped him on the shoulder, then strode out whistling under her breath.

"Scandinavians," Brandi sighed.

"Hey now, Kitten... That little boy in your arms is half-Scandinavian," Gerard chuckled, kissing her forehead as he sat down in the chair next to the bed.

"I know," she smiled down at him, "Isn't he a precious little potato." She sighed as he started nursing again.

"He's beautiful, just like his mother," he said, his normally stoic voice uncharacteristically thick with emotion.

Brandi reached out and took his hand, "Our family," she sighed happily. "Do you think Ingrid will be alright?"

"Yeah, I pity anyone who messes with her. She just got out of her military stint. She stayed for six years, crazy woman."

"She looks so fit...," Brandi sighed softly.

"Hey! Stop that, Kitten. You were carrying two bodies around. You'll be just fine. I love you no matter what you look like. You know that...," he murmured. "I loved you as much or more when you were pregnant..."

"Yes, Master," she sighed and leaned against him, "Your Kitten."

For the next three days, Ingrid popped by on the regular with food every morning. Evidently, she had found the cutest little crepe shop. She would hold the baby while Gerard helped Brandi bathe and then let her eat. "Alexander, a fine name. Protector of man." She smiled down at the baby who promptly flung an arm around as if wielding a blade. "Yes, yes, you shall be a fine warrior. I'll teach you how to use a sword, then when you have sisters, you can teach them too as my brother taught me."

Gerard melted a little at the soft and gentle way Ingrid was telling Alexander stories. He rarely saw this side of her. When she realized he was looking she glowered and Brandi giggled, "Fine, but only you get to see it. Everyone else will see me as Scandinavian Warrior."

He shook his head, "You will find someone someday that you will show that side to. He will be worthy of it as I am because he will choose you over the world just as I do. The only person who I choose before my birth family is my Brandi."

A wry smile crossed her lips, then glanced down at the baby, "We'll see. So I found a house, it's super cute. I think I'll buy it."

"Oh? Where is it?" he asked.

"North side. There are some beautiful subdivisions up there."

"Sounds perfect," Brandi smiled, "That puts you not far from us."

"I know," Ingrid cooed down at the baby, "Close enough for me to visit regularly, not so close you feel claustrophobic."

Gerard sighed heavily. "So... we get to put up with your snarkiness on a regular basis now?" he asked wryly.

"Well... that was the whole discussion of 'Hey bro, I'm moving to America'." She responded dryly. "Besides, I can babysit when this little man is older so you two can have date nights."

"Yeah, I guess I didn't really think that one through, now did I?" he murmured before pulling Ingrid into his arms and hugging her tight. "Thanks for being my sister, you brat."

"Thanks for being my brother," she responded softly, "Even if you are an egotist." She chuckled when Alexander fussed, "And that's my cue to return him to Momma."

Brandi chuckled and took him back, promptly feeding him. "So when do you plan to look at the house?"

"Mmm, sometime soon. I need to buy a car first. The rental is nice but not mine. I'm thinking of a motorcycle."

"Something big if you do. A Harley Davidson or something similar. The road conditions during the winters here are like home. Those little street rockets will get you killed," he observed.

"Those little street rockets don't have enough oomph for me. I tried one, that dirtbike we built back home when we were teenagers was more powerful." Her nose crinkled, "I was looking at a Harley and a small truck for winter."

He nodded. "Load down the back with salt... or wood like we used to back home. You'll be fine," he said with approval.

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, Papa Bear." She laughed as he growled at her. "Now, as much fun as teasing grumpy pants is, my ride will be here soon." She leaned over and kissed Brandi on the top of the head, "See you later my prettier sibling." She patted Gerald on the shoulder, then strode out, whistling once more.

Brandi watched her go, then looked up at Gerard, "Papa Bear?" She giggled softly.

He shrugged. "Our parents never wanted to leave Sweden. So when all of us eventually left, I was the one who had to make sure that everyone was OK because I would travel to all of them. It was easier since a lot of the contract programming jobs I used to do before I started working for Michael were remote. To her, I became Papa Bear," he rolled his eyes as he said it.

"I love you, Master," she breathed, her heart melting all over again at the way the taciturn man showed his love.

Across town, Ingrid inspected a truck, ignoring the flighty little salesman who was trying to get her to buy a bigger machine. "No," she said simply, "Don't want it." She turned and strode away, ignoring his yelp and attempting to follow. "I will go elsewhere, to someone who doesn't try to peer down my shirt."

Two car dealerships later, she found the perfect truck, and best of all, an older gentleman helped her, who listened to what she had to say. "I think, this one," he led her to a different part of the lot. "It meets the specs you were asking for, the price tag is a little higher, but it has a few extra features to aid with your desire for a motorcycle as well. There's a slide-out ramp on the back."

"I'll take it," she stated simply.

"Excellent, we can go inside and start your credit check." He turned to lead her in with a smile.

"I'll just pay it with a bank transfer."

"Yes, Ma'am," he smirked, the late Christmas present a welcome one.

An hour and a half later, she was driving the truck off the lot. The title would be ready to be picked up in three weeks and they said she could pick it up there if she wished since she did not have a permanent address for them to mail it to yet. She picked up the motorcycle she had already picked out, that one was much easier. She got it loaded, then headed to the house. Money moved mountains, particularly in America.

"Miss Blomquist?" the young realtor was standing there, "I'm Avey, here to show you to the house."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Avey," Ingrid stepped out of the truck and walked towards her, holding out a hand. "Please, call me Ingrid."

The next two hours were spent walking around the house, Ingrid listened to Avey extol the virtues and the downsides. She stepped out onto the back porch and took a deep breath, "This area is new, the previous owners put it in for barbeques."

"Hello!" Ingrid's attention was drawn to a woman on the other side of the fence. "Oh, you're beautiful. Are you going to buy the old place?"

"I'm thinking about it, Miss..."

"Oh please call me Brina." The older woman smiled and stepped up to the fence. "I've lived here going on fifteen years. Downsized when I became an empty-nester," she chuckled, "Now it's just me, puttering about, knitting."

"I find knitting to be soothing." Ingrid agreed with an incline of her head. "Is the neighborhood like you?"

"Ahh, some of them? Most aren't as extroverted as I am..." Brina said with a wry chuckle.

"That is acceptable," Ingrid said firmly with an incline of her head. "I find myself more pleased with this idea of a purchase." She smiled, "I am Ingrid. I think we'll be friends."

"Ingrid... Now that sounds very... exotic. Like your accent. You're not from Minnesota, are you?" she asked with a smile.

"Sweden," she said with an incline of her head, "My brother and his wife-slave live here, so I have come to spend time with them and my newborn nephew. He is a cute potato."

"Wife-slave?"

"Yes," Ingrid stated simply, "They are part of the MAsT community, as am I."

"Oh that's wonderful," she smiled and touched her neck, "My husband and I had explored that direction. I took my collar off when he passed, I kept it in a box in my closet."

"My condolences for your loss," Ingrid said formally, placing a hand over her chest and bowing.

Brina felt a brief pang, her husband would have laughed so hard at the formality. "He loved me a lifetime's worth."

"Always a worthy goal," Ingrid said, then looked to Avey, "I believe yes, I would like this house. Please set up to have it inspected and arrange for closing as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Miss Blomquist," at Ingrid's raised blow, "Ingrid."

"Excellent," she turned to smile at Brina, "It looks like we will most likely be neighbors, my new friend."

"Perfect," Brina smiled brightly. "I've been looking forward to having a woman around."

Two weeks later, she was the owner of the house and it had been paid in full. She arranged for her few belongings in Sweden to be packed up by some removers and shipped to her and then began purchasing some new furniture. Not a lot, and nothing that wasn't useful, but she had to start with something. Eventually, she settled on Ikea for a lot of the items except for the living room chairs and couch and the mattress for the bed. It was not that she was against American brands, she simply liked their styling. Utilitarian and soft on the eyes.

++++++++++

~~ Fort Hood, Texas ~~

"Archer two, this is Archer lead. Y'all ready for this Flat Top?"

"Roger that Trigger. Let's show these techie pukes why the Army still needs soldiers with balls instead of game controllers."

"Map of the Earth in three, two, one... now." Flight Warrant Officer Frank Walsh called as he dove the nose of his AH-64 Apache helicopter and dropped to a hundred and seventy-five feet off the deck, or ground. His wingman, Flat Top, Flight Warrant Officer David Eccles half a second behind him, did the same and the two streaked toward the proving grounds at a hundred and fifty miles an hour, following the contour of the treeline in the area north of Fort Hood.

"Boss, I've got active, over," Flat Top warned.

"Copy that. They've got to catch us first, old son...," Trigger replied as he led his wingman through sweeps following what was a small creek through the trees. That creek would come out into a massive cleared area where Third Armored usually did their live-round maneuvers. Set up on the south side of that clearing was a single piece of equipment that had been brought in from the Department of Defense for a live trial today. Several two-stars and a three-star were there watching as two technicians, one draped in VR gear and the other standing in front of an array of computers and servers controlled a new VR-controlled, laser-guided surface-to-air missile (or SAM) system.

The parameters of the exercise said that the choppers had forty-five seconds from where they entered following the creek at the north end of the clearing to make a similar exit in a man-cleared alcove at the south end, near the device. They did not have instructions as to how they had to get from point A to point B. Only that they were not to allow the SAM technicians to acquire a target lock.

Glancing down at his instruments quickly, he looked in the mirror at his co-pilot, the Warrant Officer that would be replacing him in this helicopter, a much younger woman by the name of Janice Reedy, callsign Fireball, a name that may or may not have had something to do with whiskey. No one from the wing had been able to get that information from her to date. "Ready for this Fireball?" he asked with a smirk.

"Hell yes, sir," she said with an equally eager grin.

"All right. Hang on to your lunch," he recommended. "Breaching acquisition zone in three... two... one... now." Trigger yanked the stick back and shot up and to the right as he entered the combat zone. Flat Top shot straight out and banked left, before quickly leveling out and going up too, giving them both room to maneuver. For Fireball, the ride was exhilarating. Frank had been doing this for just over ten years now. He had served tours running soldiers both to places where they were on the nightly news and places he couldn't ever tell anyone about in transport choppers as well as supporting them from attack platforms like the one he was flying now. He was at the top of his game.

The exercise lasted precisely forty-three seconds. Trigger made the exit cleanly. Flat Top on the other hand got tagged right as he was reaching the exit. The two technicians on the ground were sweating, relieved that they had at least gotten one of the choppers. Flat Top on the other hand was screaming in the microphone. "GOD FUCKING DAMNIT! Do you have any idea how fucking expensive Johnny Walker Gold Label is?! Captain's gonna have that grin on her face for fucking weeks! FUCK!"

Trigger grinned as he turned to look in the mirror back at Fireball and winked. "Gettin' slow on me in you old age, Flat Top?"

"FUCK YOU, Sir!" he barked. "I can still kick your ass in a straight-up fight,"

"Why the hell do you think I drive an attack chopper, dumbass? If I have to get in a straight-up fight, shit has really hit the fan," he smirked as the two streaked away and lifted, banking to head back to the airfield. "Tower, tower, this is Archer actual. Archer flight is RTB, over."

"Roger that, Archer flight. You are clear all the way to the pad," came the voice of the flight controller.

The two Apaches landed and the rotors spun down. Trigger locked down the chopper and then slid out with Fireball right behind. "That was a nice bit of flying, Sir." He nodded, smiling. He knew, but it was nice to know that others noticed too. He had worked incredibly hard to get to the level of proficiency with the Apache he had, and he was proud of what he'd accomplished. But it was time to get out of the game. He had absolutely no desire to have a military desk job. In fact, he would rather stab himself in the eye with a pencil than entertain that thought. So he had submitted his resignation which went effective in six months. That was three months ago.

The pair walked toward a lone figure walking out of a hangar toward them and they were joined by Flat Top, who was quite a bit taller than Trigger, almost six foot seven, and his co-pilot, a much smaller, wiry Asian-American named Samuel Chen. His callsign was Mad Dog, and the people that found that name absurd based on how he looked, got to understand very quickly where he got the name from. He was a vicious fighter and had endurance for days. In basic, the story went that he regularly ran circles around his unit, even with a full pack on their marches. There weren't very many that could keep up with him. But he was as sharp as anyone in the squad, and possibly the best co-pilot in their wing.