#grimmons napping is the best | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rubykgrant · 2 years ago

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(I'm feeling nostalgic... so here is the first genuine lovey-dovey Grimmons thing I wrote. It fits into the larger plot of my story-line, with Simmons getting lots of Character Development by realizing his parents are awful, and also Church and Tex are back with the AI Fragments because I said so. For Grif and Simmons, I really wanted the moment when they finally connect to happen in a way that almost mirrors the first conversation with them we see. I also wanted to show that they're still annoying dorks who bicker, but now cuddling and kissing can happen. They're each affection-starved for different reasons, and co-dependent as heck, so now they can finally enjoy each other~)

Finally, he was done with the paperwork.

Under most circumstances, Simmons enjoyed paperwork; it was a methodical process that allowed him to both focus AND zone-out. He was also very good at organizing and filling-out forms. The best kind of work didn’t just keep you busy, it was also satisfying. Right now… he just wanted it to be over and done with. He actually SKIPPED a few things, just to make it go quicker. 10 years ago, this would have caused Simmons to have a flustered panic-attack. Heck, it would have bothered him to leave something mildly incomplete 5 years ago. Well, he wasn’t the same Simmons as 5, 10, or 15 years ago… past-Simmons was done, and today-Simmons had more important things to worry about.

He just wanted to go see Grif.

They had FINALLY gotten used to just being able to hang-out again, now that all the… (what words were there to describe what had happened with his family?)… DRAMA with his parents was over. Simmons still felt so embarrassed about it; he’d not only been stupid, but perfectly willing to be deceived and used… but could you blame a guy for being tricked, when the ones tricking him were his own mother and father, and the trick in question was making him think they finally loved him, after years of being neglected and rejected? Simmons certainly blamed himself, but his friends reminded him often that it hadn’t been all his fault. Finally, he could do more than just resent his parents. He could flatly hate them, and simply ignore them. They were both gone and out of his life now, and it was on HIS terms. He was done with them, and looking forward to being with his friends again, being with GRIF again… but then more stuff happened.

More stuff ALWAYS happened.

At least it hadn’t been too much stuff this time. Some evil jerks who wanted to scan the brains of soldiers, thus creating new AI fragments… oh, and the evil jerks were using really funky boot-leg equipment that killed whoever got scanned. Really bad, and certainly a major inconvenience (especially when Simmons and the rest of his group had gotten kid-napped to be forced into the scanning process), but it had been a fairly straight-forward thing to deal with. Which they did. None of them had died, mostly thanks to the fact that Church and Tex could still do their own AI trick, plus some help from the handful of other AIs that liked to hang out in Church’s head.

Sigma had helped Simmons… which was a little unnerving at first, but ultimately OK. Sigma hadn’t tried to take over his body or destroy his mind. It had actually been kinda cool, working with the AI… and the results had spoken for themselves; fighting for your life was indeed a great motivator, but Sigma had made Simmons dig deeper for the things he really wanted.

Being connected with Sigma had been the reason for the majority of the paperwork. People wanted to know what it had been like, how it had worked… and while that was a fascinating process (one Simmons would normally like to discuss at length), some of it had involved thoughts that were very… personal. It was nobody’s business but his. Sigma knew, because he had literally been in Simmons’ brain. Simmons wasn’t exactly trying to keep any of this a secret, but still; his thoughts, his feelings.

(It had been overwhelming, but also exhilarating, looking at the situation in simple terms, these people had taken him away from everything he wanted, they had taken him away from everything he DESERVED, and he wasn’t going to let them get away with it, he wasn’t going to be pushed around, he was going to PUSH BACK, he was going to survive this situation and nothing was going to stop him, because he was smart enough to solve this problem, but he was more than just smart, he was strong, he was determined, and he had nothing holding him back…)

First they had to deal with stupid problems caused by evil jerks, and THEN he had to deal with all that paperwork. Simmons blew through it (he was internally getting a kick out of how much this would have driven his previous self crazy), and only cared about ONE thing; finding Grif. They hadn’t been able to see each other or even talk for WEEKS. That was horrible all on its own, but now… it was different. He was different.

In his search for Grif, Simmons winds up running around the facility, asking everybody he meets if they’d seen “the Orange One” (they all knew who the Reds and Blues were, but not everybody had the names down). Simmons finally finds a Grif, but it is the OTHER Grif (the one who wouldn’t recognize ANYBODY by their colors).

“Kai!” he calls out to her and waves to get her attention.

She stops in the hallway, and seems to send out irritated vibes as Simmons jogs up to her.

“Hey, I’m looking for your brother… where is he? I thought he’d stick around when we were done answering all the questions about what happened, but he’s gone-”

“Yeah, he doesn’t want to talk to you right now,” she says in a defensive tone.

That throws Simmons way the heck off. He blinks inside his helmet and tries to process what he just heard.

“What? Wh-why?” he honestly has no clue.

“Uh, maybe because you’ve been making fun of him ever since you came back?” she’s crossed her arms now, looking beyond angry even without her expression showing.

“I… I haven’t been making fun of him! I mean, we joke with each other all the time, playful insults and stuff, but I haven’t even been doing THAT lately… seriously, what’s wrong? What did I do?”

“Oh please, ever since you figured out he actually meant it when he said…” she paused there, trailing off. Simmons knew what she meant. It was the ‘I love you’. Grif had finally told Simmons how he felt, and Simmons had… misunderstood. No, it had totally gone right over his head. Because, despite how smart he considered himself to be, Simmons also knew he could be a moron. “… you’ve been PICKING ON HIM! Now that you came back and figured out how he felt, you’ve been picking on him, and just- just being a total ass-hat about it! So guess what, he doesn’t want to talk to you!”

That didn’t just throw him for a loop… Simmons felt like somebody just tossed him off a building, and now he was free-falling, flipping through the air at terminal velocity.

“WHAT? NO!” he HAD to make her understand. “I wasn’t picking on him, or making fun of him! I- I was FLIRTING with him! I thought that… I just wanted him to know I felt the same way, but without it being a big deal? I thought if I did a big romantic confession or something, it would make him feel awkward… so I was just trying to, like… flirt? But in teasing way?”

“OH. MY. GOD.” Kai dropped her arms… and then raised them up again, shaking her hands in front of his visor. “You were trying to FLIRT? That was you FLIRTING?”

“Um, yes?”

“DUDE! HAVE YOU EVER EVEN FLIRTED BEFORE?”

“N-no… not really?” his voice has turned into a meek little squeak.

“SO WHY WOULD YOU TRY IT NOW?”

“I don’t know…” in retrospect, Simmons can now see how stupid this had been.

“This whole time, my brother just thought you were mocking him! And you were FLIRTING! He tells you he loves you, and you don’t get it, then he tries to get OVER you, and YOU decide to start flirting… I can’t believe it… I swear, you are BOTH so HOPELESS!” she groans, then takes a deep breath. “OK, listen up. He freaking CONFESSED to you, after being in love with you for like… at least 10 years. He’s not gonna take you seriously if keep trying to tease him. You need to be DIRECT. You need to be HONEST. You need to do a BIG ROMANTIC CONFESSION.”

She pointed down the hallway to her right, and gave Simmons a shove in that direction.

“He’s outside, on the look-out corner over there. Now go and tell my brother you’re in love with him BEFORE I KILL YOU! AND NOBODY WILL EVER FIND YOUR BODY!”

“Right! Got it! Going to fix this now!” he was fairly certain she COULD get away with murder if she wanted, but Simmons was more concerned with finding Grif to make the guy UNDERSTAND.

This whole time… Simmons had been calling him cute, and lover-boy… but Grif thought Simmons was mocking him. He must feel AWFUL. That hadn’t been his intention at all. Why were they so bad at this? Why couldn’t they ever be on the same damn page? The short answer was, they were BOTH morons.

Simmons sprinted down the hall, dodging random people on the way… if they knew why he was running, they’d probably think this was like a scene out of a rom-com, and he was trying to catch somebody at the airport. Well, that was almost right; he certainly felt like if he didn’t find Grif and talk to him IMMEDIATELY, this was going to be a lost cause. You can’t expect a person to keep waiting, hoping, for years and years and… it had already been long enough. Simmons might even be just barely too late right now. Oh NO, he had to find Grif, tell him truth, he had to FIX THIS!

He should have said something years ago… but in his defense, Simmons hadn’t realized what was happening. How could he? In the beginning, he hadn’t even LIKED Grif, and that was supposed to be first step when you actually fell in love with somebody, right? You like them. Grif and Simmons had a very rocky start. By the time Simmons DID start to like him, well… what was he supposed to think? This certainly wasn’t a conventional relationship. Not that Simmons had a lot of experience with ANY relationships at all; his home life with his family had been a nightmare. They didn’t love each other, not in a genuine and affectionate way, and they certainly didn’t love him. He never had any real friends. Most kids hated his guts, either because he was too much of a little smarty-pants or not smart ENOUGH. Whatever the reason, nobody liked him. He never dated anybody either… he knew what dating was supposed to look like, though. Simmons watched movies, he read books. He could occasionally see real people who were really in love (or at least seemed to be). He just never got to experience it himself. How was Simmons supposed to recognize that he was falling in love with somebody, when he had no personal frame of reference for it?

His relationship with Grif had always been weird, but it was THEIRS. It was just like that with them. Eventually, Simmons realized he liked Grif, and they were friends despite all the bickering (maybe even a little BECAUSE of the bickering)… and you DEFINITELY shouldn’t be having cutesy-thoughts about your friend. Simmons assumed there must have just been something wrong with him… and if he ever let Grif know, it would ruin the weird relationship they had. Grif wouldn’t want to hang out with him or talk to him anymore, which was the worst thing ever, because Simmons DID like having him as a friend, so what was wrong with him? Why did stupid thoughts keep popping into his head, and why… WHY… did he occasionally have DREAMS that went a LOT further than “cutesy”? You don’t dream about your friends like THAT. YOU JUST DON’T. Something was wrong with him, but it wasn’t his fault, he had no control over dumb stuff his brain did while he was unconscious, and if he just didn’t say anything, then it would be OK.

After the incident on Chorus, Simmons had thought the whole problem would just be solved; something had finally happened, something that was outside of his control, and so he didn’t have to worry about it. He didn’t need to come up with a reason or an excuse. Something had happened, and it had happened with Grif, and now… he could stop trying so hard to ignore it or explain it. The choice was out of his hands. No more pressure to make a decision. They could figure out what this meant TOGETHER, and things would be fine… except no, nothing EVER was that simple. They got caught (thankfully, not in the act. Enough time had passed for them to recover some composure... and their clothes), and Grif had been beyond embarrassed. That had been like a slap in the face to Simmons; Grif didn’t want to talk about it, or even think about it. It was just a crazy situation, caused by Tucker’s stupid sword, and it was pointless to dwell on it.

Simmons dwelled on it, because his brain couldn’t let things go… and yeah, it had hurt. He’d been rejected before. Many times. He basically expected it whenever he started talking to another person, regardless of who they were. Was he trying to make a friend? Was he trying to impress an authority figure? Was he trying to ask somebody out on a date? Nobody ever wanted him. Which wasn’t exactly fun, but he was used to it. Now Grif didn’t even want him. For a little while after Chorus, Simmons had been terrified that Grif wouldn’t want him at ALL, not even as a friend. The two of them had both been rejects TOGETHER, and somehow that made things OK. Grif was so chill, and Simmons was so up-tight... they cancelled each other out. Or maybe it was more like they complimented each other. They clashed too, oh YES, but no matter how often that clashing happened, they still stayed together. In the after-math of Chorus, that wasn't true anymore. This is what he’d been afraid of, doing something stupid that would ruin their relationship (and just what WAS their relationship, anyway?).

Then they had arrived on Iris, and things had gone back to normal… Simmons didn’t hesitate for one moment to fall back into their old routine of talking, bickering, and joking. That was good, that was safe. That was what he wanted. Except, part of him wanted something else. Part of him wanted to say more when they talked, part of him wanted to get closer, part of him wanted… he wasn’t even sure WHAT. He just wanted, and all that WANT was directed at Grif. Why? You don’t want stuff like that from your friend. Why did Simmons even want Grif at all? What was wrong with him? When Grif had "quit" the group, Simmons internally felt broken. He kept doing what he needed to do, because what other option did he have? Just curl up on the ground in a ball, and die? He felt like doing exactly that... and it wasn't FAIR, it wasn't fair that Grif could just push him away and not care, it wasn't fair that Grif didn't NEED him around the way Simmons needed Grif. Thankfully that hadn't lasted; Grif came back. Simmons should have done something right then, told him him something... just SOMETHING, to make Grif understand... but Simmons still didn't understand it himself. He didn't understand why he felt empty without Grif around...

Well, Simmons had finally figured it out; he had been falling in love with Grif as the years went by (it was so obvious and simple when you said it like that), and he was too much of a dink to see that for what it was. He’d never been in love before, or been able to see an up-close example of what love really was… just second-hand glimpses at other people from an emotional distance. He had never been able to relate to any of it. When Simmons found himself right there in middle of it happening, he had no clue… it was love. Love. When you like somebody, and want somebody, and NEED somebody, and have all kinds of cutesy-thoughts about somebody, and dreams that are on the more mature side of romantic about somebody… there is a fairly good chance that you love them. The evidence added up. Simmons already had one missed opportunity with Grif, he can’t lose him again.

He finds the doors that open up to the large look-out area… and there is Grif. Standing over by the railing, still in his armor. It feels good just SEEING him again. It feels good knowing Grif isn’t far away, out of reach… but Simmons can’t relax yet. He still has to talk to him, and he has to make it good. Because that’s his best friend over there, that’s his favorite person, that’s the man he’s in love with (oh damn, his stomach rolls at that thought, but not in a bad way, he’s just such a bundle of nerves). Simmons has to tell him all that, and make sure Grif knows it is TRUE.

“Grif, hey…” Simmons slows down, and catches his breath, walking up to the railing. “I’ve been… I’ve been looking for you. We need to talk…”

“Yeah, well… I don’t wanna talk to you…” he doesn’t just sound sulky or pouty. Grif sounds downright miserable.

“Grif… c’mon, please… we can always talk to each other,” Simmons is trying not to panic… he can’t stand the idea of NOT being able to talk to Grif, especially when Grif is RIGHT THERE.

“FINE, whatever… you talk. I don’t got nothing to say,”

Simmons was going to ignore the bad grammar for now. Priorities.

“Grif, I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you meant when you said you loved me…” he sees Grif shuffle and tense up at the mention of this. “I’m sorry you had to put up with me being so oblivious for such a long time. I’m sorry that when I finally figured it out, I started teasing you… I SWEAR, I wasn’t trying to make fun of you! I was… look, I’ve never actually dated anybody in my whole life. You know that… so I’m just- I’m BAD at this, but I was TRYING to flirt with you. Really!”

Grif turns away from him, muttering.

“Yeah, right…”

“Grif, no! I mean it! I was flirting with you, I just suck at it!” oh, Grif doesn’t believe him. That’s not good… OK, time to get real. “So… I’m just going to tell you how I feel, honestly. Alright? I love you, Grif…”

“No you don’t…”

“Uh, yes I do?”

"You don't,"

"I really DO?"

“NO! No you don’t! Why WOULD you?”

“Why would I… Grif, how could I NOT love you? I like talking to you more than anybody else I’ve ever known in my entire LIFE! You drive me crazy with how annoying you are, but you also make me laugh so much I forget about everything else! When I make YOU laugh, it's like I really accomplished something, because nobody else is as good at it as me! When I’m with you, I feel so stupid, but you also make me feel like I actually matter! Sometimes, I literally can’t stop thinking about you! You take over my head! A big portion of my life practically revolves around you!” Simmons was trying to step closer to him… but he just kept moving away. “Grif, you’re my best friend. You know exactly how irritating and weird I am, and you still want to be around me. I know all your bad habits, and I can’t imagine NOT being with you. No matter how I try to picture what I want in my life, you’re always there. You make me happy, and I want to be the person who makes YOU happy. If I’m not in goddamn love with you, then I don’t know WHAT the hell is going on!”

Simmons took a step toward him, and tried to put a hand on his shoulder. Grif shook him off.

“Grif, I-”

“No! Just stop it! You don’t… you DON’T…”

Simmons refused to give up. Maybe if this was just about Grif not feeling the same way, he could let it go… but that wasn’t what was happening; this was Grif being so used to feeling unwanted, he couldn’t accept the fact that Simmons was truly in love with him. Grif could do whatever he needed to do for himself, he could go ahead and move on if that was what he really wanted… but first, he had to KNOW. He had to know Simmons really MEANT IT. Simmons needs to do something… something direct, something that can’t possible be misinterpreted.

He reaches up and takes off his helmet, setting it down by his feet.

That done, Simmons reaches over and begins to take off Grif’s. At first, Grif doesn’t notice what is happening, then he tries to jump away… but Simmons has his hand on the clasps, and Grif can’t escape. The orange helmet comes off with a few little clicks, and Simmons places it down with his maroon one.

Grif turns his head down, and leans away… like he’s trying to hide his face. Simmons can see that parts of his cheeks are shining in the sunlight; at some point during this conversation, Grif had cried behind his visor. Maybe out of frustration, or simple sadness… but either way, he had cried because of Simmons. This almost makes Simmons lose his nerve, it nearly causes him to choke and freeze-up, but he reminds himself that this is something he WANTS to do, something he NEEDS to do.

“Grif, look at me… look at me…” his voice comes out soft, but certain. Quiet and gentle, but still calm.

Grif hears this, and he can’t NOT listen… because he doesn’t get to hear Simmons sound like that very often. He hears Simmons whine, and squawk, and screech, and babble all the time. He also hears Simmons laugh, and complain, and grumble, and joke a lot. This was different. There was something PLEADING in that tone, and Grif can’t say no. There was also something very CONFIDENT in that tone as well, and Grif can’t ignore it.

He looks up at Simmons, and it feels like too much; Grif has been trying to forget how he feels but now here is this face… Grif sees his eyes, his hair, the way his smile pulls just a little to one side, and it reminds Grif of a million other things. Every conversation they ever had, every time they had a petty argument over nothing, every time they cracked each other up until it felt like they would die, every time they really DID almost die but somehow survived. Grif sees the metal that frames one of his eyes, and part of his jawline… and that reminds Grif of the fact that they match. Grif has patches of skin that came from Simmons, and right now Simmons can see that too. He can see Grif’s face, Grif can see his, and Grif sees so much MORE; Grif sees everything he knows about Simmons, everything he hates about Simmons, everything he LOVES about Simmons, and it feels like too MUCH.

“I love you,” Simmons tells him, that same tone… soft, certain, quiet, gentle, calm… pleading and confident.

It hits Grif right then; Simmons knows exactly what he’s saying… and he means it. Grif’s heart doesn’t just skip a beat; he practically feels it shudder in his chest (and really, this heart came from Simmons, he literally has Simmons’ heart, and it must still be in cahoots with Simmons, because right now this heart is TORTURING him).

Before Grif can think about what to do or say in response, Simmons is tilting his head down. Still holding on to Grif's shoulders, ever-so-slightly pulling him closer. Now Grif can’t see his face anymore… it is too close, just a soft blur… he's blocking out the sun...

Simmons is kissing him.

Simmons had leaned down, until there was no more room between them, and very softly pressed his mouth against Grif’s… except it was a little more than that… Simmons had parted his lips, just slightly, and when they touched, his lips closed around Grif’s. Now Grif was really starting to notice the way this felt, the smooth curve of Simmons' lower lip, the warmth, it was so light and gentle… just barely a kiss, but ABSOLUTELY a kiss. Since when did this nerd know how to kiss? Who told him he could do that? Grif’s breath stalls, and he doesn’t trust himself to let it go… it’ll come out as a choked sob of relief, and that might turn into something else, like a full-on crying fit, so instead he just holds it and shuts his eyes.

After a moment, that both seems like a long time and yet too short, Simmons leans away… now Grif lets himself exhale, and it DOES sound shaky and choked, as if he’s never been kissed before, as if he’s never kissed Simmons before (but Grif himself had insisted that what happened on Chorus didn’t count, it hadn’t been “real”, they should just forget about it… this was entirely different than Chorus; this wasn’t in a dark closet, this was out in broad daylight. They couldn’t blame this on a magical sci-fi alien temple that turned your brain off and turned the rest of you ON. This was deliberate, this was intentional, this was REAL).

Grif blinks, seeing Simmons again; he looks relieved, like he’s finally done something that he NEEDED to do. His eyes are still closed, and Grif can hear him sigh softly… no ragged, strangled gasp from him. Well, that’s not fair. Grif can feel something inside himself, what most people would probably call “butterflies in your stomach”, it was also like static electricity sparking in his gut, and now HE needs to do something, because that kiss had NOT been long enough, he’s been thinking about kissing Simmons in the back of his mind for more than 10 years, and if they can just do this now, if they can just kiss each other, then… then Grif is going to get the most he can out of it.

Grif’s hands come up to grip the edges of Simmons’ armor, roughly pulling him back, the metal on their chests making a clunking noise. He also brings their faces together again, their lips touching again, and REALLY kisses Simmons. Grif can hear him make a startled little hum, but it is a pleasantly surprised noise, and it turns into a sigh of gratitude. Actually... it was in the neighborhood of sounding like a moan. Now that he’s not in a state of shock, Grif can actually kiss Simmons like he means it… and he DOES mean it. He presses his mouth against Simmons', firmly but tenderly, and shows Simmons how kissing works; you nod your head into the movements of your lips, as smoothly as possible, until it feels like you're both floating in the ocean, letting the waves roll you. That's how you kiss somebody... like a wave. The way Simmons responded was warm, welcoming... slowly nodding along, matching what Grif was doing, and it really was like being in the ocean, rising and falling with the waves...

Those butterflies Grif felt before have escaped from his stomach; now he feels that fluttering all over his body, down his legs, through his arms to the tips of his fingers, filling up his head. More than just little sparks of static… Grif has a whole thunderstorm inside him, and he knows what it is; the feeling of wanting somebody, needing them, all kinds of other sappy words… yearning, longing… and finally being able to just HAVE something with them, finally being able to give part of yourself to them, and they want it too… you BOTH want this, you want each other. You HAVE each other.

This was just a little kiss, no big deal… except it was, because it was SIMMONS, and Grif has been talking to him for years, standing next to him for years, thinking about him for years, and he has been holding himself back from doing anything even remotely similar to this. No matter how close they were physically, Grif still made sure there was enough distance between them to be safe, you could still call it “platonic”, no touching except the occasional punch in the arm or a short bro-hug. No matter how close they were emotionally, Grif still made sure not to get too deep about his feelings, never reveal how much he thought about Simmons or how often those thoughts were tinted with something romantic. As close as it was possible to get to somebody… without being TOO close.

Whatever line had been drawn in the proverbial sand to separate them, it had been crossed… and erased. Grif was now so close to Simmons, they were touching. Not just touching, KISSING. Grif was kissing Simmons. Simmons was kissing Grif. After years and years and YEARS, this was actually happening.

When the thunder storm finally seems to be over, when the butterflies finally seem to calm down, Grif eases his mouth away… and hears Simmons make a sound sort of like a quiet, uneven laugh. Not exactly his nervous giggle, and not quite his I’m-so-tired-that-everything-seems-funny chuckle. This sounded a lot more satisfied and breathless… and just a little bit needy, like he wanted more. This was a laugh just for Grif, because Grif had kissed it out of him. He wants to hear that again and again, kiss Simmons again and again.

“I love you, Grif…” Simmons tells him, pressing forehead gently against Grif’s, eyes still shut, his expression one of simple contentment.

“… I love you too, Simmons,” Grif replies, and it occurs to him that he can do that now; reply, say it back, or say it first and then hear the reply. He hears his own voice crack, he can’t help it.

Just a few minutes ago, Grif had been resigned to giving up on Simmons… he couldn’t stand being around the guy anymore. It was too painful. Impossible to be friends with somebody who thinks how you feel is just a big joke, and now Grif couldn’t even ignore it and pretend nothing had changed. EVERYTHING had changed. He hated it, and he was just so DONE dealing with Simmons. No more having conversations that didn’t go anywhere, no more wasting his time pining away like a stupid middle school kid with a crush. He was too old to feel like this. It was time to just move on…

NOW everything had changed again. Simmons had told him he felt the same way. Simmons had kissed him. Simmons was still clinging to him, still nuzzling his face against Grif’s, still being so affectionate… it could just be like this, always. From now on, when they’re standing around, one of them can reach out, and then they can hold each other. When they’re talking, bickering, laughing, they can lean in and kiss each other. They can do all of that… suddenly having all these options is overwhelming Grif, all these possibilities that aren’t just silly little love-sick fantasies anymore, but REALITY.

“Well… that only took us, what? 10, 12 years to figure out?” Simmons softly murmurs.

A laugh escapes Grif, making him shake, and Simmons as well.

“We might be stupid…” Grif leans away just enough to properly look at Simmons.

“Oh, we’re major idiots, no question!” Simmons agrees, opening his eyes, smile spreading across his face. Grif grins back at him, and without knowing it, they both think ‘I love making him smile’.

“You’re supposed to be the SMART one,” Grif tells him.

“Yeah, but I remember what I said? You MAKE me stupid. My braincells are allergic to you,”

That does it, Grif explodes into laughter, and has to bury his face into Simmons’ neck (he suddenly feels like he desperately needs to be right there, right in the little spot where the kevlar under-suit ends and he can see the exposed skin. Grif is lucky he’s already so close, because for a sec, he was practically frantic to get his face to that little spot), where he both hears and feels the vibrations of Simmons laughing right along with him.

“You c-can’t ever do this to me again, man…” Grif tries to catch his breath, and also not move his face away, because he feels pretty good right where he is (he’s gonna have to try cuddling this close to Simmons again sometime, when they don’t have layers of armor in the way. He’s gonna have to cuddle Simmons a LOT). “You can’t make feel like I don’t have a chance, and then give me hope, and then…”

“No, don’t worry. No more miscommunications,” Simmons promises, turning his face just a little bit so it is nestled in Grif’s hair (thinking to himself how nice it is… they just fit together like this, each of them fills up the space for the other. He's going to enjoy holding Grif when they're both wearing something more comfortable, no armor to ruin it). “And I won’t… I won’t keep teasing you anymore-”

“Well, y’know… maybe that’s not so bad after all,” Grif mumbles in a weak attempt to sound nonchalant.

“What? Grif, you were so upset about it! That’s why you were avoiding me!”

“Pfff, dude, that was waaay back-”

“Way back 11 minutes ago?!” it is impossible to take that grumpy tone seriously, because Simmons still has his arms wrapped around Grif’s body, and he still has his face in Grif’s hair.

“Yeah, way back then. That was when I thought you were saying that stuff sarcastically… but now I know you MEANT it. Now I know all those things you told me weren’t insults, they were COMPLIMENTS. You can keep that up, that’s fine with me…”

“Grif- you are so- you’re such an ass-backwards, contrary, son of a-”

“Oh, are you gonna talk dirty to me, too? That’s cool, I can get into that…” Grif feels Simmons squeeze him tighter, and for a few seconds worries if maybe he stepped too far and really made Simmons mad (which would be horrible, they were FINALLY getting somewhere, somewhere GOOD), but then he hears Simmons sputter and feels those vibrations against his face again; Simmons was laughing.

Grif grins against his neck, and waits for the laughter to come to a slow stop.

“Grif, do you remember what I said when I realized how you felt?” Simmons asks him, still out of breath from left-over giggles. “I asked you what you loved about me, right? Like, if you loved my laugh or my eyes? You never answered me… that’s why I started trying to flirt with you. I thought if I said what I loved about YOU, it would make it easier for you to say what you loved about ME,”

“Oh… OK, I can kinda see why you might have thought that would work,” Grif isn’t sure who messed up worse… they both should have known better.

“So?” Simmons asks.

“So… what?”

“SO, I’ve given you PLENTY of compliments…” Simmons prompts him.

“Ah, OK, um… so…” Grif reminds himself that he’s already said the most important thing, this was just the icing on the cake. “Yeah… you asked if I loved your laugh… and I do, but not just that. I really… I love your voice, I love the way you sound, I love the way you talk when you get all excited about something you care about, I love when you get all ticked-off and rant about something you hate, I love how you sound when you’re explaining something even when I don’t understand it, I love your- what’s it called, the way a person pronounces things, the- the something, the speaking rhythm? No, that's not it...”

“My speech pattern?” Simmons offers helpfully.

“YES, your speech pattern, see I love that too, when you know the words for stuff I forget about, and I love when you mess-up words like a dork, it's cute, and yeah I love your speech pattern, that’s why I fall asleep when we talk all night, not because you’re boring, but listening to you calms me down, and… FUCK, I did the thing where I can’t shut up again!” Grif can feel a small pressure on top of his head; he’s pretty sure that’s Simmons kissing him up there, and that makes him realize Simmons might like HIS speech pattern, too.

“Grif, if you think YOU like to hear compliments, you need to remember who the hell I am!” this makes them both laugh again, and it feels so surreal; having a stupid little argument that was really more fun that anything, while also being snuggled tightly together, with Grif basically kissing Simmons’ neck because his mouth kept touching that little area of skin, and Simmons basically kissing Grif through his hair… this was something they’d done a million times, but never like THIS. It starts to sink in with Grif that he CAN just do stuff like compliment Simmons, and call him cute... the guy was VERY susceptible to flattery. In fact, he ate it up.

“… Grif? When we have the chance, do you want to go out on a date? Like, an actual, real date?” Simmons asks him.

“Oh, hell YES I do,” Grif doesn’t even hesitate.

“Good. We’ve got a lot of wasted time to make up for… jeez, we could have been boyfriends years ago, what’s wrong us?” Simmons is resting his cheek on top of Grif’s head, rolling his eyes at how ridiculous this whole journey has been.

“I think we already established the fact that we’re major idiots…” Grif reminds him… then realizes something. “… boyfriends?”

“Yep,” Grif feels Simmons nod his head gently.

“I’m your boyfriend?”

“Yep,”

“Your MY boyfriend?”

“Yep,”

Years of not liking each other, then becoming friends, then accidentally falling in love but not doing anything about it, then Grif trying to finally tell him only for Simmons to miss his point, then feeling like Simmons was going to drift away forever… and a few minutes ago, Grif wanted to get Simmons out of his life. Now they were boyfriends. Just like that, everything had changed. If there WAS some kind of divine creator out there with a plan, they REALLY liked screwing with Grif.

“That sounds pretty good,” Grif admits, finally allowing himself to separate from Simmons (because now he doesn’t feel like he’ll somehow lose Simmons if they aren’t clinging together).

“It really does,” Simmons presses his lips to Grif’s forehead briefly (both of them having internal moments of glee at the realization that they can do that now; share casual little kisses… because they were boyfriends), and then bends his knees to pick up their helmets.

***

While all this was going on, Kai had been inside the building losing her mind.

She was sick and tired of always having to wait on the side-lines while her brother had some emotional break-down… if he had listened to her before when she gave him advice about his love life, all these problems would have been solved. Heck, if Dex actually had the nerve, he would probably be MARRIED to Simmons by now… but nooooo, he had to be so pathetic and ignore his feelings (and ignore the fact that Simmons was OBVIOUSLY just waiting for him to make the first move. Not that Simmons knew that’s what he was waiting for, because he was pathetic too). She was surprised he hadn’t died of dehydration, her bro was so thirsty and refused to take a sip even when there was a tall drink of water RIGHT THERE.

She finally couldn’t take it anymore. She had to go out there and see what was happening. If they were fighting or not talking properly, she was gonna walk up and smack them both!

Kai heads down the hallway, and starts to step out through the doors… but then catches herself.

The two of them are standing out there. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but from the way they’re turning their heads slightly, she can tell they are talking. It seems like a comfortable conversation, whatever it is. The whole scene looks like something typical for the two of them, except… they’re holding hands.

They’re standing out there, together, talking, and holding hands.

Kai has no clue what finally did it, who said what, how it happened, but LOOK!

She quickly steps back inside, letting the doors quietly close. Kai barely takes a few steps away from the door before she has to stop, her knees almost give-out on her, so she just pauses there in the hall for a moment, half-bent over, holds her hands up in triumphant fists, and lets out a long sound of pure happiness-

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

-because her brother was out there holding hands with somebody! Not just anybody, but the specific somebody he’s been madly in love with! She wouldn’t have to kill Simmons after all! Kai leaves, practically skipping back down the hall, letting the two of them have their romantic little moment out there. They deserved it. They deserved each other. They had certainly waited long enough for it.

Ooh, she had to start thinking about fun date-night ideas for them… and ask Donut to help her pick out cute matching outfits for them to wear… and… and… NO, WAIT! She still had to be patient; those dorks out there only JUST got together, and everybody who knows them was bound to freak out about it (Kai hadn’t even been there for the beginning of this long and nonsensical romance, and she was freaking out a little herself). Dex needed some time to enjoy himself in peace. She would wait for them to tell the others (and once Tucker knew, he was probably going to start planning their wedding… if he hasn’t already). THEN she would start giving them dating suggestions~

#red vs blue #rvb #grimmons

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whatthefuckisasweep · 3 years ago

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Grif

For the character ask! Sorry this took me a while, I can't copy and paste on mobile, so I waited till I got on desktop tumblr! Thank you so much for asking about him, I could go on forever lol so this is gonna be fucking LONG. Please, anyone, feel free to ask about any other character, too. These are fun.

Why I like them: Grif is, for lack of a better word, complex. On one hand, it's like, okay he's just a funny comedy character. But on the other hand, he's like every all of my favorite archetypes of a character. He's crafty but stupid, selfish but selfless, antisocial but friendly, the straight man but the dramatic guy, he's snarky but oddly caring: the reluctant hero. It's kind of paradoxical, and I feel like not only do I relate to him, but I just really enjoy him overall. Whether it's because he's a good brother, being a complete dickbag because he doesn't know how to handle emotions, being a complete cynic on the battlefield, or being hyperactive and snappy, it's just... ah. He. Everything in his life just happens, and he has to deal with it, and yeah he'll kick and pout and probably eat everything but in the end, he's gonna choose his family and he cares deeply... even when he can't really show it.

Why I don’t: I see this a lot in myself too - the fact that he's impulsive and inherently negative when he speaks specifically. his words don't match his actions. He often doesn't hesitate when it comes to making negative comments because they are easier than saying something nice, but what his intentions are are completely different. in other words, he's a jerk, lol. Especially in season 15. I know people felt bad for him because he was partially right and went insane on Iris, but he lowkey deserved it. He said he hated his friends, and even his closest friend. He didn't want to admit that he was a good person just because he didn't want to help. yeah, it was valid, but he needs to learn how to make a case without fucking everyone emotionally and being so clammed up. >:/ sometimes it feels like he regresses in character, as much as he's matured. i guess that's realistic and just the writers making comedy, but also the way he handles Doc specifically irks me. so mean spirited for no reason, as funny as it is.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): OH MY GOD, okay, literally, every single episode with Grif starring as a main is fucking gold. I think for this I'm going to say, uh, This One Goes to Eleven. Even though it's not Grif-centric, it's the episode that's my favorite overall because it introduced me to RvB and made me like Grif right away, simply because he was attacked so much and I felt so bad for him. Another great one that sticks out right now in my sleep deprived state, is Grif does a Rescue. Augh. And the episode where Grif and Simmons get stuck underground in the caves.

Favorite season/movie: Season 8 (shotgun!!!, hyperactive ai grif), Season 11 (hanging in the canyon with simmons), Season 4 (the tank and blue simmons w/ grif), Season 5/6 (kai and rat's nest), Season 12/13 (the recruits, grif building the snowmen), Season 14 (backstory with simmons, Room Zero), Season 15 (you know why)

Favorite line: OK, don't make me choose. There are SO many that are good!!! I think one of my most favorite things that Grif says is "yoink!" It's so adorable! I also really enjoy "BLUEEE TEAAAAM SUCKKKKKS" with his epsilon double, the whole "invisible nap" scene, "what are we, on a date?"/"I can tell you what we weren't doing", "no one made me, I made me", "WERE GONNA FUCKING DIE" when charging at the meta, "that's a figure of speech?" [when carolina says im so hungry i could eat a horse is a figure of speech], "dexta grif he who shall not be messed with!"... I'm sure I'm missing a lot, he has SO many snarky funny lines, but these are some off the top of my head.

Favorite outfit: LOL THIS IS SUCH A FUNNY QUESTION BECAUSE THIS IS RVB. HAHAHA. Uh. Season 6 probably. I just like Halo 3 Graphics. Also s14 Room Zero because THEY DREW HIM FAT CANONICALLY. THANK YOU.

OTP: I'm with the majority of people in the fandom who like Grimmons! I think Grimmons is the only ship that I really vocally ship with my whole heart besides OC ships. I just very much enjoy their dynamic -- it's very angsty, dialogue full, intimate yet so unspoken. It's just a really good pair to write about and see the development of through canon. And, not to mention... season 15... hrk...

Brotp: I really REALLY want grif/tucker, grif/church, grif/locus BROTP. SO SO SO BAD. I've always seen grif and tucker as bros, grif and church are HILARIOUS together and we were ROBBED of more time together, and grif and locus are fucking adorable.

Head Canon: I have a lot of headcanons about Grif, but one of my favorite ones is that he has half-lidded eyes, like he's always sleepy. I also headcanon him as bisexual, though I think that is a popular headcanon!

Unpopular opinion: I dunno if I have super unpopular opinions about Grif... maybe that I think that his labryinth wasn't as bad as it seems at first? A lot of people seemed to think that though, yknow. Like if you look deeply into it, it's actually kinda fucked. But I feel like we should have gotten the Hawaii scene anyways. Hm. I also didn't like how they altered the canon so that Grif wasn't drafted. I think it does add something to his char that he chose to go, but I always really liked the aspect that Grif didn't control that, and yet he still did this on purpose. He was good on purpose.

A wish: A badass Grif carchase scene for the love of FUCK. We need to have him drive more stuff !!!!!!!!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Have him betray the reds -- i think every other red has betrayed the team at some point. please god for the love of god dont do this to grif. it really adds and says something about his character that he doesn't ever betray his team.

5 words to best describe them: (eye roll) eh. fuck it.

My nickname for them: this isn't really my nickname, since I mostly just call him grif -- but 'gif'. It's cute, and my QPP came up with it! I also really like dex. augh

#rvb #grif #dexter grif #red vs blue #ask #asks #thank you for this #sorry for the length you just gave me a place to infodump #and i really thank u for this

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simpin-for-simmons · 4 years ago

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Hi! You got me really interested in Grif/Simmons/Carolina friendship headcanons. Do you have some more of them?

I have plenty! I might have already posted some of these already (but nevermind that)! Anyway here you go!

They become genuine friends during Chorus, around Season 12. They're not terribly close but Carolina comes to respect them a little more.

After the the end of S13, they become best friends and close as hell to eachother.

Grif and Simmons are the ones who have to tell Carolina that Epsilon is dead, since everyone else is too injured or too shaken from the fight. This is the start of the best-friendship.

On Iris, Simmons gets jealous of Lina hanging with Grif so much, so he ends up going to Lazy Lessons to "supervise"

They end up all three napping together

They also really like playing video games together. Lina's kind of like the bridge between Simmons and Grif's taste in games, she'll play literally any game with them. (And beat them both at it)

Lina also knows when to leave them alone. They're boyfriends and they need their space, and she respects that.

She'll also beat the shit out of anyone who's too nosey in their relationship. She's the Official Grimmons Bodyguard.

Grif gives them both weed and watches them lose their minds because they're both incredible lightweights.

Lina definitely thinks of Simmons as a little brother. Ginger, determined to to his best, be beyer than everyone, AND daddy issues? How can she not want to big sister his dumbass?

Also! Grif braids Lina's hair with flowers sometimes. It

#rvb #red vs blue #rvb simmons #rvb grif #dick simmons #dexter grif #grimmons #rvb carolina #agent carolina

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calliecat93 · 6 years ago

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I saw your latest ask meme and thought I’d ask you for the classic criteria. Grimmons perhappeth? Thanks!

I am on it! Okay so this has... 40+ questions on it? Ho boy... well RIP my fingertips. But for you dear Anon, I will endure it!

how did they first kiss? Gosh, ugh... so this is going off my headcanons about if Grimmons was always canon and happening all along. So during Blood Gulch, they’re both bored, Sarge is driving them cray, Donut isn’t doing them any favors, and I absolutely believe that Grif has had a crush on Simmons since basic. I believe that at some point... lets say during the in-between time of the first two seasons, Grif finds out about Simmons being a virgin and mocks him relentlessly as you would expect. Eventually, Simmons gets genuinely pissed and snaps at him, also in part due to going as crazy form boredom/his own crush that he’s ignoring. So Grif... well... offers to fix that problem. At first Simmons thinks that Grif’s finally lost it and refuses, but Grif kinda talks him into it and the more that Simmons contemplates it, the harder it is for him to ignore the urge. They don’t really have ‘sex’ the first time since Simmons is... well, Simmons so Grif at most probably gave him a handjob or something as a preview of what’s to come. But it did end with Simmons giving into it and kissing Grif, to both of their shocks. Simmons frantically pulled back, but Grif encouraged him to continue and they both ended up liking it and would continue in private as they explored this new relationship. So yeah, they’re first kiss was in a heat of passion, but a kiss nonetheless... and WOW did I go on with that answer XD

who flirts more? Grif. Easily. I’m not even sure if Simmons realy understands the concept of flirting, but he tries. He’s just... not good at it. Grif though? He has no problems.

how did the relationship start? Okay so I explained my theory about the ‘friends with benefits’ thing int he first ask, so lets talk about how it became an actual relationship. The friend with benefits thing would be something that keeps going until the transfer out of Blood Gulch. By the time that they got to Rats Nest, Grif had realized that he was in love with Simmons, but Simmons was still unsure. Mainly he realized that he was falling for Grif, but due to his own insecurities was terrified of making the commitment. He felt bad for dragging Grif along into something that Simmons feels that he can’t keep so sometime before they’re about to be executed he broke it off. Grif was unhappy because he knew by then that Simmons felt the same, but refused to accept it. Simmons came close to admitting it when they’re about to be executed, but Grif derailed it since he was still pissed and didn’t want to hear it t death’s door. This would continue during Recollection and I can see them having a moment or two of weakness during Valhalla, like Simmons using Holo-Grif to satisfy his needs/they to make himself confess, but all it does is make the strain worst. So how does it get fixed? Well they start to do better after escaping Wash and the Meta with Grif agreeing to give Simmons time, but he can only wait for so long. What finally gets Simmons to accept his feelings is when Grif almost falls off the cliff. During whatever they were doing before Carolina showed up, and probably during it too, Simmons came to terms with how he felt, got Grif alone, took the initiative without Grif needing to provoke him to for the first time, kissed him, and finally confessed his feelings. Grif found it nerdy and cheesy as Hell... but dear Lord did he give into it. From there, there were still issues as with any relationship, but they’ve been in love ever since.

how did they start living together? do they move? how do they choose the place? They both got shipped to Blood Gulch. They didn’t get a choice in it. As for how the move went, I assume that they had little time to get whatever they had together. Simmons got his stuff all nice and organized and loaded it onto the Pelican... and Grif just threw all of his stuff haphazardly into it. So during the whole trip Simmons had to clean it up, cursing at Grif at every moment, while Grif napped during the entire trip.

do they have roommates? Sarge, Donut, Lopez, and sometimes the Blues and Carolina depending on if they get separate bases or not. They all drive each other crazy, but it does make being intimate difficult when neither Donut or Tucker will quit prying about it.

do they get married (or equivalent)? I want to believe that when they do eventually have a moment on Earth to do so, they will get married. For now, they’re unofficially married. I think maybe they’ve talked about the idea and Grif suggesting they go tot he Vegas Quadrant and just do it there before anyone can find out.

do they have kids? No. If Geoff is to be believed, thy will when science is possible but I don’t take that seriously, especially since he said that a decade ago. If they did though, I’d be all for it!

do they have pets? No. I headcanon that Grif had a cat back home because Sister found one and she made him let her keep it. They have a love-hate relationship since it kept taking his food. Before going to basic, Sister left it with an old woman who lives int he same apartment building and it is being well taken care of still.

do they act different in public and at home? Not really. At most, they act less like a couple in public because Simmons isn’t comfortable with the relationship being out int he open still. But that’s about it, otherwise they act the same no matter who they’re around.

big spoon/little spoon? In the beginning Grif is the big spoon and Simmons is the little spoon. Once Simmons is more okay with the entire thing? It just depends.

sleeping habits? Simmons only sleeps when he absolutely has to and is very strict about getting at least eight hours of sleep at night. But he will shrink that if he has a load of work to do... which is often, so Grif will normally ‘trap him’ (i.e. lays on him) to make him nap with him. As for Grif, he’ll sleep whenever and can sleep anywhere. I do think that he doesn’t like to sleep alone, especially after S15, and can’t without some kind of background noise due to the isolation. But otherwise, he can and will sleep anywhere whenever.

favorite non-sexual activity? Standing and talking

favorite sexual activity? Umm... I’m not sure. Probably casual, lazy sex where they’re in no rush and just do whatever.

how often do they have sex? Whenever they have the open opportunity... so probably like every other day.

what habits of the other drives them crazy? For Simmons it’s Grif’s messy habits like never picking up after himself, for Grif it’s Simmons constant nagging bout those habits.

how often do they fight? All the time

most trivial thing they fight over? Probably over nerd stuff like who was the best Doctor Who or something.

who uses all the hot water? Grif. He doens’t shower much, but when he does... yeah...

who does most of the cleaning? Simmons

what do they watch on tv and do they fight for the remote? Probably stuff like Star Wars or really bad sci-fi films. Yes, and Grif more often than not wins.

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working? Simmons, after they try to do it themselves and make it worst.

who answers the phone? Whoever is closest to it

who steals the blankets? Grif

who remembers things? Simmons, at least when it comes to military stuff. For date stuff, Grif’s more likely to remember since Simmons is a workaholic and gets so caught up that he forgets.

who does the groceries? They both do and Simmons has to make Grif quit throwing unhealthy stuff int he cart.

who cooks normally? Simmons, even though Grif is the better at it, but that requires work

who leaves their stuff lying everywhere? GRIF

what kind of stuff can be found around their place? Everything...

what do their cupboards or shelves look like? Simmons mostly keeps them all nice and organized... though some of them look a little hap-hazard if Grif just threw stuff up in there.

what does their closet(s) look like? Like a normal closet, although they don’t really have many outfits. It’s mainly their armor and maybe a small amount of causal stuff. Simmons side is all ncie and tidy and Grif’s... well, isn’t.

what do they do when they’re away from each other? Be upset that they’re away from each other. Aside form that, what they normally do.

do they have nicknames or pet names for each other? Kissass and fatass

how do they refer to the other in public? how do other people refer to the other? (i.e. “my partner”, “ask your father”, "dad and papa", "how’s your wife?“, etc) Probably as my asshole teammate’ at first, and eventually shift to ‘my asshole boyfriend’

who is more likely to pay for dinner? Whoever has the checkbook that day

how often do they go on dates? Not too often since there’s nowhere to really go, although Grif considers watching TV a date.

typical date night? out or at home? At home

do they celebrate birthdays, valentine’s day, anniversaries? Not that much. Like they ackowledge them and maybe so something int he evening, but otherwise they don’t... well until Donut drags them into doing it.

what would they get each other for gifts? Oh God... IDK. Grif would probably gt Simmons somehtign he considered nerdy and Simmosn would... IDK, get him a year supply or Oreo’s or something.

how do they spend christmas and new year’s (or equivalent family gatherings)? Dealing with their insane teammates XD

who cusses more? They’re both pretty potty mouthed XD Grif’s more likely to not restrain himself though.

what would they do if the other one was hurt? Rush over to them and do whatever is possible to keep them safe until medical help arrives.

what are little gestures they do for each other? Simmons will often leave Grif food or leave him lunch after Grif complains about it to make him feel better. Grif can normally tell when Simmons is particularly stressed and will do something like actually clean the bed (and maybe a small part of their room, he has his limits) to take some of that off for him along with forcing him to nap with him.

do they know how the other takes their coffee/tea? Yes

do they feel they see each other enough, or do they have activities that take too much of their time? They see each other all the time, so yeah they feel like they see each other plenty. Maybe too much. Although whenever they’re seaperted for so much as a couple of hours, it feels fr too long.

do they friend/follow each other on facebook/tumblr/livejournal/skype/etc? Yes. Grif likes to shitpost at Simmons’ expense XD

morning routine? Simmons often gets up n the early morning, tries to make Grif wake up but give sup after a few minutes. He goes about getting ready and once he’s fully stripped into his armor, he literally kicks Grif out of bed and makes Grif get up. Grif protests by just lying ont he floor until Simmons agrees to make him food. There’s a lot of bantering and morning kisses until Sarge makes them show up for the morning meeting, where Grif goes right back to sleep. On some occasions, Simmons will instead kiss Grif awake and the end up making out until they hear Sarge yelling for them, at which point Simmons makes Grif get into his armor and they go about their day.

how do they make up after a fight? They ignore each other for a few hours and someone like Tucker gets annoyed and tell them to just kiss and make up already. The two eventually can’t take nor seeing the other and they don’t really apologize, but acknowledge that it happened and then move on. That being said, by the end they kiss each other for a long time as a non-verbal apology. No one sees them for the rest of the day, so they know that all is right with the world again.

#rvb #grimmons #HA! I DID IT!#Anonymous #ask

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comefeedtherainn · 7 years ago

Note

If youre doing the writing prompts, how about "hey hey, stay with me", for grimmons?

Ooooh, I love it! Thanks for the prompt, I missed my boys

Content warning: blood

Why couldn’t they ever have a nice, peaceful, in-and-outweapons raid? Just once?

Grif muttered as much to himself as he ducked behind a slabof crumbled cement that used to be a wall, shoving ammo into his gun. “This issome bullshit,” he called louder, loud enough that Simmons could hear as he peakedhis head out of cover beside him.

“Yeah, no shit,” Simmons shouted back, propping himself upon one knee and firing at the oncoming mercs. “Did somebody call for anextraction yet?!”

“Wash did, ETA’s five minutes.”

“Fucking balls.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Grif parroted. He glanced over the edge ofthe concrete, preparing to start fucking shit up, when suddenly there was a crackingsound that assaulted his eardrums, echoing around them, and a combination offorce and debris that sent himself and Simmons flying a few feet away fromtheir previous position. Grif landed hard on his back, gasping hoarsely as thewind was knocked out of him, but otherwise unharmed as his armor took most ofthe damage. He slowly regained breath after a long few moments, blinking as hisvision swam back as well. He groaned and pushed himself up to sit, waving hishand in front of his face to clear the dust. “Simmons!” he called, though hecould only hear his voice muffled, like he was underwater. “Simmons!”

He got to his feet with a grunt, his hearing slowlyreturning and overlaid with a high-pitched ring. That was gonna get fuckingannoying. He shook his head to clear it and looked around, swearing softly whenhe didn’t see any maroon in the now mostly collapsed section of skeletalbuildings. He ducked when a few shots pinged the wall beside his head, slamminghis back up against something solid as he searched from the ground instead. Hepaused when he thought he saw an armored pair of legs peeking out from behind afelled wall, gray with dust.

He shifted onto his stomach, taking a quick, sharp breathbefore beginning to crawl, keeping himself low to the ground to avoid furthergunfire. He made it in one piece (somewhat surprised about it, if he was beinghonest), and sat up properly before getting a good look at what was, indeed,Simmons. He was resting against a block of concrete, his helmet off; Grifglanced to the side and saw his visor had been shattered. What was worse wasthat Simmons was breathing erratically, his eyes wide and frantic, and his handwas clutching a dirty slab of debris of some sort. It had wedged itself intohis side, where the armor separated between rib cage and hip bone. Before Grifcould tell him to stop, Simmons had yanked it out in a panic, blood spurtingout after it and flecking the dirty ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Simmons,” Grif snapped, crawlingforward and nearly falling onto him as he slammed his own hand over the wound.Simmons’ covered it and increased the pressure, though they were shaking as hisface drained of color. “What the fuck did you do that for?” Grif snarled, hisheart racing so quickly he got a little dizzy. No time for that now, though.Simmons’ blood was warm against his hand, already soaking his glove.

“D-didn’t think,” Simmons stuttered, sheet white andgrimacing. “Sorry. Ugh. That fucking h-hurts,” he muttered.

“Yeah, no shit.” Grif patted around on his suit, swearingharshly as he realized he had no fucking medigel. “Fuck. Fuck me!” he growled,slamming the comm button on his helmet. “This is Captain Grif, I need medicalassistance, right fucking now! Man down, I need fucking medical assistance!”

“Read you, Captain!” came Donut’s voice, a littlebreathless. “On my way to your location!”

“Hurry the fuck up,” Grif snapped, leaving the line open ashe turned back to Simmons. “Hey, hey, no,” he said firmly, shuffling forward asSimmons’ head started to loll forward. “Dick, look at me.” He used his freehand to cup Simmons’ cheek, tilting his head upward and looking into his glazedover eyes. “Hey. Stay with me,” he murmured.

“Feel like shiiiiit,” Simmons slurred, blinking sluggishlyand slumping sideways a bit.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re bleeding out like a fuckingfaucet, asshole,” Grif snorted, stroking a patch of freckles with his thumb. “You’regonna be fine. Donut’s coming.”

“Why th’fug izzat better…?” Simmons snorted, resting hishead on Grif’s hand as it got too heavy.

“Because he’s got medigel, smartass,” Grif laughed shakily,propping Simmons’ head back up. “Hey. No napping on the job. There’s only roomfor one of us around here.”

Simmons snorted, opening his eyes halfway and looking at himwith a bit more focus. “I love you.”

“Don’t,” Grif told him sharply. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Simmons just mumbled something in response, his eyes slidingclosed. Grif was just starting to panic when Donut rounded the corner, backingtoward them while firing his pistol in the opposite direction. After a couplemore shots he spun toward them and dropped to his knees. “Here,” he said,shoving the canister into Grif’s hand. “I’ll cover you.”

Grif nodded, moving closer to Simmons’ side as Donut got tohis feet again and defended their position. He pulled his hand away from thewound, grimacing as he realized it wasn’t bleeding any slower. “Alright,” hemurmured, only loud enough so Simmons could hear. “This is gonna hurt.” Hewrapped one arm around Simmons’ body to keep him still, and held the canisterin his free hand. He took a breath, then stuck it inside of the wound andpushed down on the trigger.

Simmons screamed so loud his voice broke, thrashing againstGrif’s arm and tossing his head. “I know,” Grif muttered, swallowing as hecontinued. “Just a little more, I’ve got you.”

Simmons’ screams died down after a few long moments,although Grif wasn’t sure that the groans were much better, or the head-to-toeshaking. He grimaced as he plugged the rest of the wound as best he could,holding onto the nearly-empty canister just in case they needed the rest.

“Grif, our ride’s here!” Donut shouted down at him, tryingto be heard over the sudden rush of wind and gunfire. “Let’s go!”

Grif scrambled to his feet, stooping and taking Simmons intohis arms. Holding him bridal style he jogged after Donut, who defended allthree of them with his handgun as they ran. They made it to the pelican withoutany further injuries, although Donut and Grif both earned a couple new scrapesin their armor from pinging bullets. Wash shoved them both into the bird with arough hand on their backs, shouting over the din for everyone to board. Onceeveryone was accounted for he dove in himself, and the mercs and rubble belowbegan to shrink as they rose into the air.

Grif sank to the floor instantly, setting Simmons down asgently as he could in a lurching aircraft. He was out fucking cold, and stilldeathly white, but he seemed to be breathing okay. The medigel was doing itsjob, and the only blood was what had already been spilled. Which was a fuckton.Grif grimaced as he glimpsed his soaked glove and crimson painted bracer. Hetried to ignore the coppery smell, or else he might actually fucking puke.

“He stable?”

Grif glanced up at the gruff voice, nodding when he sawSarge standing over them with his helmet underneath his arm. His bushy, darkeyebrows were pulled in and down, the lines in his forehead more pronounced. “Yeah,”Grif responded shortly, looking back down. “He’s good, for now. Bled a lot,though.”

Sarge nodded, clapping Grif’s shoulder firmly. “We’ve got ‘im.Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Grif snorted, lifting his eyes to the ceiling without muchvenom. He watched Sarge go to make a show out of assessing other injuries,declaring that this battle had been just another example of why Red team wassuperior, given that they had only sustained one injury while all of the Blues hadbeen shot at least once. Though, Grif noted, no one was laying prone on thefloor of the pelican. And the wounds were pretty minor. Still…little victories.Suck it, Blues.

He sat with his back against the wall, pulling Simmonscarefully until his head was resting in his lap. Simmons didn’t wake, but hedid turn his head toward Grif’s stomach in his sleep, pressing his foreheadinto the warmth. Grif took a deep breath, pulling off his blood-soaked gloveand running his clean fingers through Simmons’ hair.

“I’ve got you. Asshole.”

#asks #grimmons #spaghetti-l0rd #writing

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secretlystephaniebrown · 7 years ago

Text

Come On Home: 4/5

After the war, Locus ends up spending his days on Hawaii, where he meets Kai and Grif. Nothing will ever be the same.

Thanks as always to the phenomenal @a-taller-tale for the beta! And special thanks to every single person who has given feedback bc you guys are the freaking best.

Grimmons arrives! Chorus arrives! We're almost at the end!

Also on Ao3

This planet is the fucking worst. Simmons leaves and joins Blue Team again, then Donut tells the rescue ship to leave, Caboose is constantly upset because Church ran off again, and on top of that Wash and Tucker won’t fucking shut up. Grif doesn’t know if they’re flirting or just haven’t slept enough lately, but he also doesn’t really care because they’re getting on his nerves. Blue Team problems. He knows better than to tamper with them.

So when an asshole in orange armor shows up, Grif is almost ready to write the whole thing off as yet another Blue Team misadventure about to start when the guy opens his mouth and Grif is suddenly a kid again.

“Run!” the man yells, and Grif stares. He’s wearing orange, bright orange, orange and charcoal, the same orange as sunglasses on a smug face—

“Excellent work soldiers.”

Grif’s been punched a lot since joining the army. He’s intimately familiar with the feeling of being punched in the chest, of the way the pain lingers, of struggling to breathe.

This is worse. This is so, so many times worse. Because a figure with cloaking like Tex, like the Meta, comes into sight, in a weird shade of green armor, with a helmet that has a familiar marking across the visor, and it’s unmistakable. No one else has a voice like that.

Grif would recognize his asshole big brother anywhere, even in armor, even more than ten years later.

He can’t speak, can’t breathe. He just stares, and then looks at Felix. There’s blood on his leg, where Sam shot him, and he can’t help but feel kind of… proud, or something… that Sam finally got around to ditching that guy, even if he ditched them first.

There’s some fucking posturing, some weird and ominous statements, but Grif can’t really hear them. His blood is pounding in his ears, and every single thing he’s wanted to say, every name he’s ever wanted to call Sam or Felix are trying to spill out over each other, and the result feels like choking.

And then…

Sam is gone, and they’re left with fucking Felix. Felix, who’s injured and just saved Wash… because Sam had just tried to put a bullet through Wash’s head?

His stomach feels gross and wrong, and his head aches just trying to put these pieces together.

He listens to the speech, like the rest of them. Felix calls them the “galaxy’s greatest soldiers”, and Grif has to bite his tongue to stop himself from calling bullshit.

He remembers Felix. He remembers a guy who was willing to feud with a twelve year old girl, who scared his sister so badly that when Grif came home from work, she’d been sitting on the couch holding a knife. Felix is trouble, and Grif doesn’t believe one inch of his story.

“Yeah,” he finally says, after the pitch. “I don’t buy it.”

Felix flinches suddenly, turning to stare at him. Grif doesn’t say anything else, just lets the others reject his offer. And when he tries to slip off to make a call or something, Grif follows him.

“What the fuck are you pulling?” Grif demands.

Felix turns. “So… it is you,” he says, but he’s tense. Ha, guess he hadn’t expected to find Grif here. Good. The guy deserves to be off balance.

“Man, you really pissed Sam off. He wouldn’t let us even kick you out of the house, and now he wants to kill you?”

Felix lets out a nervous laugh. “Uh, Grif, right? Locus he’s—he’s not the guy you knew, okay? He’s gone totally off the deep end.”

“Like I’d believe anything you say about him, you slimy fucker,” Grif says. “What. Happened?”

Suddenly, Felix’s body language shifts. “I’m not telling you shit,” Felix says, and there’s the familiar cocky asshole. The one who not only has all the cards, he’s stacked the deck, so he knows what cards you have. “You’re just some brat he got a soft spot for years ago. You’re not important.” They’re wearing helmets, so Grif can’t see his smile, but he can remember it. “He ran away from you and all of your fucking problems with his tail between his legs, remember? Couldn’t be fucked to stick around.”

So what if Felix is right? That doesn’t mean that he gets to win the conversation. He’s practically bragging. Sam chose him instead of them. But…

“At least he didn’t try to put a bullet in my head when he ran,” Grif says.

Felix laughs. “Yeah, well. Give him time. He doesn’t like reminders that he’s human.”

He leaves, and Grif lets him for now.

“Grif!” Simmons yells, back from the campsite. “Stop napping and come help us!”

Grif takes his eyes off Felix, and heads back towards Simmons, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being watched.

The others are preparing for battle, and Grif’s in the corner screwing with his future cubes when he hears the heavy footsteps behind him. He grabs his gun and swings around, even though a part of him knows exactly what he’s going to see.

“Dexter Grif,” the voice, that old, familiar voice, is almost too quiet to hear.

“The fuck are you doing, Sam?” Grif’s mouth is totally dry, and he grips his gun tightly, even if he’s not pointing it at Sam.

He’s… he’s never seen Sam in armor before. Somehow, in his head, wherever Sam had ended up, he’d be wearing the same goofy print tourist shirts and denim shorts that Kai always bought him and he’d worn without comment or complaint. Or maybe in the cargo pants and white tank top he’d worn the first time they’d met, which he’d put on again whenever he’d leave with Felix.

But in armor, it’s almost like he’s an entirely different person. Grif can’t see his face, can’t see where he’s looking, can’t see the twitches of his mouth and eyebrows that were always so expressive, that Grif had learned to read like a book. In armor, he’s even taller, even wider. For the first time, Grif thinks he can see why Mom had been scared of this guy. Sam looks… dangerous. Dangerous and alien.

Felix’s words echo in his head about Sam not liking reminders that he’s human, and he wonders if this is what he’d meant.

“Locus,” Sam corrects, and his voice was somehow even deeper than normal.

“No,” Grif says. “Fuck. You.” He takes a deep breath. But he’s had a bit more time now, a bit of time to rehearse this, to figure out the exact order of his questions. He’d never thought he’d get this chance, never thought he’d actually be able to say any of these things, but here he is. He’s got a chance to get answers. “What the fuck are you doing here, and why are you trying to kill Felix? And us?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam says, and there’s that weirdly earnest undertone that Grif remembers. He’s gone for fucking years without hearing that voice, without seeing him, but for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all. Sam looks away, and slings the fucking sniper rifle he’s been carrying back over his shoulder, his head tilting downwards. “My orders are to escort your friends to safety.”

“And Felix?” Grif demands. “Dude, I thought he was your friend.”

Sam isn’t looking at him. “I—he—we had a—disagreement.”

“You said he should be glad you missed his head. Like holy shit Sam. You really took that friends-turned-mortal-enemies thing all the way.” But then Grif remembers that Sam abandoned them, and gets mad again. “Great. So you’re on the planet for a job. Let me guess, it’s super important, and so that’s why you never came home?”

Sam isn’t looking at him, Grif can tell. All that does is make him even more angry. There’s still a box of Sam’s things in the bottom of his closet back home, a box with a razor and those fucking books. The picture of the three of them is back in Blood Gulch. He’d left it with Kai for safe keepings, because he’d still have Simmons at least, unlike her.

“It was for the best.” Sam sounds like he really believes it too, and that just makes Grif even angrier.

“The best?” Grif can’t fucking believe him. “Oh, fuck you. Kai fucking cried for—”

“Why are you here?” Sam interrupts him. Shame radiates from him and his shoulders are hunched. Good to know Kai crying is still an effective weapon, even now. “I know the deposits have been going through.”

Grif wants to laugh. Of course that’s what he’s focusing on. The money had just kept coming in. Sometimes small amounts, sometimes large. Never any notes or messages attached, just dollar signs. The only clue they’d had that Sam was even alive, out there wherever he was. But it hadn’t mattered. It just meant they didn’t starve, that there was more new clothes, that the house stopped looking like it was going to fall apart around them. “Didn’t go back to school. Got drafted.” Which he hadn’t even realized that Sam had been trying to prevent until he’d gotten the letter. And suddenly everything had fallen into place; his weird focus on school, his few vague mentions of college.

And after… everything, when Grif had started to get nightmares, he thought he might actually understand Sam for the first time in years.

“I… see.”

No, he didn’t. He didn’t get that Grif had kept skipping school even though he didn’t need to out of spite, hoping that Sam would come home just to make him go back. He didn’t see that Kai had followed him into the army, that Kai had fucking volunteered, even though she didn’t have to, because she was all alone and she missed him, and if that wasn’t a statement about how apparently no one in their family had any brains, that was.

“Dex,” Sam says, and there’s something twisted with the way that he says it, as if he can’t quite believe it. He straightens his shoulders suddenly, his posture changing completely and his voice becoming stronger. “You need to convince your friends to come with me. Felix is dangerous. The New Republic—”

“Spare me the fucking speech,” Grif says. “Don’t you guys fucking get it? We don’t care. Call off your guys in the fight, and then Felix will go away too. Just help us get a ship and I’ll be out of your hair and you can do your badass loner thing again.”

Sam seems to be about to respond when suddenly, loud, armored footsteps start to move towards them. “Oh Griiiiiiif,” Felix sings. “Got a present for you! One I’ve been saving for your kid sister, but I bet you’ll do just fine.”

Sam grabs him and starts pushing him back. For a second, Grif thinks he hears fear in his voice. “Run!”

“What, and leave Simmons with him?” Grif tries to twist out of Sam’s grip, but if he’d been strong before, he’s even stronger in armor. “I’m not going anywhere, dumbass, let me go—”

“Then I’m sorry,” Sam says. “This is for your own safety.” He lets Grif go, and for a second Grif thinks that’s the end of it, but then Sam moves. He draws his sniper rifle off his back, and before Grif can move away, the butt of it comes crashing down on his helmet, knocking him out cold.

Grif wakes up, lying on a medical cot. He knows it’s medical because of the smell; it’s like shit straight out of his nightmares. He only ever wakes up in med bays after… after shit goes really far up the creek.

It all comes back at once, and his eyes fly open.

Sam.

Felix.

Simmons.

He sits upright. Just like he thought, he’s in a medical bay, with nobody in sight except Sam, who’s sitting nearby, awkward in his full armor, perched in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs that all hospitals seem to have.

“You’re awake.”

“What the fuck, asshole?” Suddenly, he realizes they’re far away from their crash site. “Where are my friends?”

“I… I managed to recover some of them.” Sam looks at his hands instead of Grif, and that’s… that’s not good.

“Some?” He has to bite down on the steady stream of “where’sSimmonswhere’sSimmons” that threatens to burst out. “Who?”

“Your Sergeant,” Sam says. “And Agent Washington.”

“Who else?” Grif says, feeling panic bubbling in his chest.

“I… we also recovered the robot. He was badly damaged, but it would be possible to repair—”

“Simmons. Did you rescue Simmons?”

“… no.”

Grif swears, clambering to his feet. He’s in full armor, not even tucked it. Sam must have just dumped him on top of it like a dumbass jerk.

“Dex—” Sam gets to his feet, as if planning on making him sit back down.

“I’m not leaving Simmons out there with him. Or Caboose. Or Tucker. Or Donut. Or even Doc!”

“The Federal Army is currently unaware of the location of the Rebel Base,” Sam says, his hands on Grif’s shoulders.

Grif stares at him, the smooth visor with the familiar X, but larger and green than the scar on his face. “Bullshit.”

“It is unlikely we would have allowed them to remain if we did,” Sam sounds testy, almost like Grif is insulting him. “The location of their base is secret.”

“Bullshit! Take off that fucking helmet and look me in the eye and say it to my face.”

Sam hesitates for a moment. But then he takes a step closer, and draws the privacy curtain that surrounds the hospital bed.

He reaches up and removes the helmet slowly, as if scared at what’s going to happen next.

Sam looks old. That’s the first thing that Grif notices. There’s silver in his hair, which is held back in that familiar ponytail style. Instinctively, Grif looks for signs of Kai’s handiwork; braids or twists or flowers, but of course, there’s nothing there. It looks longer than it had been, and there’s traces of a beard on his face.

He looks tired too; there are wrinkles on his forehead and dark circles around hisi eyes. He doesn’t remove the rest of the armor, standing stiffly, almost alien in the bulk of it. His helmet stays in his hands, and he looks ready to put it back on, should someone approach or a loud noise occur.

Grif takes off his own helmet. Sam’s eyes go wide for a moment, surprised, probably, by the patches of Simmons on his face.

Simmons.

Who’s alone with Felix. Okay, maybe not alone, but there without Grif. Anxiety and fear churn his stomach.

“What happened?” Grif demands.

Sam looks away. “I needed to get you out. You were my priority. Felix…” he trails off, and Grif stops himself from shivering at the memory of Felix’s voice in the jungle. “He would have hurt you.”

Grif thinks of Felix and he knows the parts of him that are Simmons’ pale have gone green. “What about my friends?”

Sam can’t meet his eyes. “He has no reason to hurt them. He needs them. But you—”

“What?” Grif feels something bitter building in his chest. He’s relieved, sure, relieved because Sam is probably right, Felix needs the others, because the New Republic needs them. But Grif is exempt from that for some reason? The bitter feeling keeps rising, building. It’s not quite a laugh, not quite a sob, but almost both at the same time. He wants to puke. He wants to hug his brother. “He thinks he can, what? Hurt you with me? C’mon.”

Sam frowns, and Grif gives himself a moment to enjoy how it’s the exact same frown that he used to have whenever he’d find Kai doing some stupid shit. “Yes.”

Grif snorts. “Well. Guess we both know he’s wrong there.”

There’s a twitch, as if Sam wants to reach out, but if it happens, it’s aborted so quickly that Grif thinks he might have imagined it. But he looks like Grif slapped him.

“No,” Sam finally says. “He’s not.”

Grif feels the world grind to a halt.

Sam had left. This has been a fact of his life for years. He’d left, just like everyone else, because he hadn’t cared. Grif hasn’t ever doubted this; it’s a fact of his existence, like that Kai will do dumb shit the second his back is turned, or that Simmons is a fucking nerd, or that the sky is blue. Sure, Sam had sent money, but that was... guilt or something else. Maybe he had cared, but not enough to stay, and what else mattered? Kai had cried when he left. Left, and hadn’t even had the decency to tell them. He’d just… not come home.

But if Felix could... if Sam cares enough to…

When the world starts to move again, Sam is gone. There isn’t even a shimmer in the air.

The curtain parts suddenly, and a woman in white and purple armor bounces in. “Why hello Private Grif! Agent Washington just got out of surgery; I think Locus had to throw your Sergeant in the brig because he kept trying to stab me, but really I think he was just being silly!”

“What?” Grif says, staring at her blankly. “Who are you even? Where’s—” He stops himself from saying Sam’s name. She probably wouldn’t even know who he was talking about.

“I’m Doctor Grey, silly!” She spreads her hands out widely. “Welcome to the Federal Army of Chorus!”

Life with the Feds is fucking awful.

They’re at this weird, snow-covered base in the mountains, and the food is fucking shitty.

Grif is going out of his fucking mind with worry. The Feds have so many fucking rumors about Felix, and Grif can’t help but believe most of them are true. Things are fucking terrible; it’s all a mess, and even if the guys are on Felix’s side…

It’s hard not to imagine.

The Feds also have rumors about Sam though, and it’s just as weird.

Because this is Sam. The guy worked for a greengrocer and let Kai put flowers in his hair. He thought the beach was stupid and refused to sleep in Mom’s room and liked his curry so hot it made his eyes water. Sam, who walked Kai home from school every day, even after Mom kicked him out and who stayed up late with Grif looking through bills. The giant nerd who watched bad movies with him and had nightmares.

But the Feds have rumors, and so that’s how Grif knows there’s also Locus, who’s more machine than man, who breathes like Darth Vader, who’s scarred a thousand times over by the war until his face is ugly beyond human belief. He can teleport and fly and turn invisible. He’s unstable and dangerous, and his paycheck is the only reason he hasn’t murdered the entire Federal Army in their sleep, and his presence is the only thing that stops the Rebels from slaughtering them all.

By unspoken agreement, they don’t talk in front of the others. But calling Sam “Locus” feels wrong. It reminds him of that day, in the kitchen, listening to the way Sam seemed smaller, after Felix left. He’d bounced back, but… just for a little while, he’d seemed more worn down, more fragile, more… broken. Grif doesn’t like that name. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to his brother.

He writes to Kai every day, even though they can’t go through. Tells her all the stupid shit that Sam has done, as well as the other stuff that’s been happening all over the base. Like Sarge blowing up Warthogs or Wash getting Doyle to faint three times in a row.

Grif has his own quarters, for whatever reason, so sometimes Sam stops by, when he’s not on missions. He brings food, whatever he can scrape up. It’s usually better than whatever Grif’s eaten that day, so he never complains.

Sam never stays long, always hovering at the edge of Grif’s room, as if thinking that Grif is about to throw him out. And sometimes, Grif is. The guy left them. He left them alone with Mom, for the whole extra three weeks she’d stayed after Sam had left, and when she’d left, Kai had cried again, but Grif still isn’t sure if she’d been happy or sad to see Mom go.

They’d gone out to the airfield to watch for Sam every day for a week after Mom had left, hoping beyond hopes that maybe now he’d come back. But he never had.

One day, as Sam is preparing to leave after dropping off what appears to be a still-warm container of curry, Grif stops him.

“Take off your helmet and join me, asshole. You brought enough for two.”

Sam hesitates, but he does. Maybe it’s a sign that he missed Grif almost as much as Grif missed him, because apparently Sam never takes his helmet off elsewhere.

Maybe it’s because seeing the faces he makes would totally ruin his air of mystery though, because Sam still has the worst fucking poker face that Grif has ever seen. And just to prove it, Grif trounces him in Poker, Chorus Poker, Blood Gulch Poker, and Go-Fish.

Sam takes his defeats without complaining, but he always looks thoughtful.

It starts to become routine, eating food and playing games, sitting there in silence. Kai was always the talker of the three of them. There had never been a need for them to speak that much, not with her to fill the silence.

It’s not that Grif doesn’t miss her constantly, but right now, with Sam here, it feels even more obvious. Like he’s missing a limb, as well as Simmons and his other friends.

Sam, surprisingly, is the one who starts talking.

“How did you meet Agent Washington?” He asks one day, staring down at the full house that Grif had just smugly revealed. They’re playing for shiny rocks that Grif has been collecting, because he’s eaten all the candy Sam had discovered for them to play for.

“We ruined his plan to kill the Meta,” Grif says automatically, before stopping to stare. “Wait… why do you care?”

“Agent Washington is… peculiar. I do not understand him. I wish to correct this.”

Grif falls over onto his side, laughing.

Well, at least Sam’s taste in men isn’t always as awful as Felix.

In public, they don’t interact much. There’s no reason to; Grif mostly just dicks around, helping Grey in medical or Sarge in the armory or Wash with training. Locus is always off doing his weird dramatic missions or occasionally trying to have conversations with Wash that only ever seem to result in Wash wanting to punch someone.

But apparently people have managed to notice that Locus spends time near Grif’s room, even if they don’t knon the full story.

Ah, the power of military gossip.

“Be careful around him, Grif,” Wash says one day over lunch. “I don’t like how interested he is in you.”

“Dude, you’re the one he follows around,” Grif shoots back. “Think he’s got a boner for the Freelancer.”

Wash glares at him. “Take this seriously Grif, this guy is dangerous.”

“I think his crush on you is absolutely serious.”

The look Wash gives him is completely and utterly offended, which just makes it all the better. If Grif was a nicer brother, he’d probably either try to convince Wash that Sam wasn’t all that bad, or tell Sam that Wash getting flustered is just his normal state of mind, not necessarily a sign of interest.

But Grif isn’t a nice brother, and besides, Sam fucked off to go have a life of mercenary adventure with Felix. Grif is not about to throw Sam as much as a string, let alone a lifeline here.

Occasionally, Sam brings back snippets of information. Rumors of rebel activity, a few sightings of General Kimball or Felix. He sees Tucker, right before Tucker fucking blows up an entire building with people inside.

Jeez, those terrorists work fast on the brainwashing.

But Sam hasn’t seen Simmons.

“I’m certain he’s fine,” Sam says.

“You don’t know,” Grif points out. “You don’t know Simmons, okay? He’s going to be fucking falling apart without Sarge there. And Wash is like, his backup Sarge! He’s not going to have any leader to listen to, and that means he’ll try to be a leader, and the last time he got promoted, he buried Sarge alive!”

Sam tilts his head to one side. “Will… will your absence not cause any difference?”

“Oh, he’s probably fine with that,” Grif says dismissively, pretending he doesn’t care. “He’s probably just glad I’m not there to steal his socks.”

“I… see.”

Grif doesn’t want to explain to Sam that Simmons leaves too. Joining Blue Team (twice), and always wanting to be as far away from Grif as possible. He doesn’t want to explain that if Simmons had been here instead of him, Sarge and Simmons probably would have been perfectly happy.

Sam doesn’t say anything else, just looks at him for a long, long time.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” Grif says suddenly, because it’s falling into his face again, the way it always does when he needs it trimmed, and the only way to handle that is to braid it or get the scissors.

Sam startles, staring at him like he’s grown a second head or something. Which is dumb, because Sam watched Grif braid Kai’s hair for over a year. Sure, he’s never done it for Sam, but that’s because Kai liked to do it.

“… that would be… nice,” Sam finally says.

Grif isn’t as good at the fancy braids as Kai is, but he gets Sam’s hair into a respectable single braid pretty easily. It’s… nice. Sam seems to relax for the first time since they’ve found each other again, letting Grif slowly work on his hair. And Grif can pretend, just for a little while, that Sam never left. That Kai was just a few rooms away, napping or studying or texting her friends. That they were still home, and things were fine.

When he’s done, Sam gives him one of those rare, real smiles. Grif rolls his eyes. “You’re such a sap,” he says, even though Sam hasn’t said anything.

“You are the only one who would say so,” Sam says. Then he puts his helmet on, and leaves.

A few days pass. Sarge hooks up with Doctor Grey, and the entire base is put off their food when they’re caught making out in the hallway. Wash manages to get into an argument with Lopez, even though he doesn’t speaks Spanish. Sam is gone for those days, off on one of his longer missions, the ones where he always comes back from stressed but with better food.

When he sees Sam again, it’s early in the morning. He’s just back, and Grif is just awake.

“What is it?” Grif says. There’s something wrong with the way Sam is standing just outside of his room. His shoulders are hunched forwards, trying to curl in on themselves, like they always get after a nightmare. He looks… scared. He looks around, but they’re alone. “Sam?”

“Your friends are on their way,” Sam says, but there’s something distant in his voice.

“What?” Grif says. “That’s—holy shit you found them? Are they okay?”

“They’re fine.” He sounds almost automatic, like he’s rehearsed this. “For now.”

Grif stops. “What do you mean?”

Sam bows his head. He’s wearing his helmet, and it’s a weird sight. Locus, the terror of both armies, looking small and scared and reluctant.

He slowly straightens up, inch by inch, until he’s standing at his full height. Somewhere in the back of Grif’s mind, he thinks he should be scared, but he’s not sure he is. When Sam speaks again, his voice is perfectly steady.

“My orders are to kill the Reds and Blues, should they reunite.”

And that’s the last thing Grif hears before the world goes black.

He wakes up on the comfiest fucking bed he’s been on in years. It’s all super soft and downy. He can’t remember the last time he was on a bed like this. It’s the kind of bed that makes him want to sleep forever and ever, and never get up again.

It’s great, until he realizes he has no idea where he is.

The room is small, but there’s a fridge full of food, a comfy chair, and a note taped to the locked door.

This is for your own safety.

I’m sorry.

-S

The line with Control goes dead, and the room fills with a dangerous silence.

“So where is he?” Felix asks. There’s danger, boiling under the surface. Locus understands that now, perhaps better than ever. There had been a quiet glee to Felix when they’d received the orders to dispose of the Reds and Blues.

Locus had protected Dex by taking him to the Federal Army. Felix wants him dead. He knows too much, Felix insisted. He knows their faces, he knows Sam’s name, he might even know more than that. It’s impossible to tell what Dex has pulled together

Once, he had brought Felix into the Grif household. Now, Locus knows the depths of what he and Felix are capable of. He knows better than to allow Felix near anything good, anything kind, and especially anything that Locus cares for that Felix does not. Felix will either want it or want to destroy it, and he’s long since discarded any notion of possessing the Grifs. Dex knows too much. For that alone, Felix would want to kill him. But Locus has been protecting Dex from him, and Felix can’t forgive that.

“Where is he?” Felix says, louder this time. “C’mon, don’t think I didn’t notice he wasn’t there!”

Because Locus had moved him the moment the order had come to kill them.

“He has been taken care of.” Safe, and out of Felix’s reach. Dex may never forgive him for this, but he’s safe, and that’s what matters.

Felix looks at him. He knows, or at least suspects. Locus had hoped the evasion would have worked, but Felix knows him better than anyone.

“We’ve got orders, Locus.”

“I am aware.” Dex will never forgive him. “Simmons, is Simmons okay?”

Locus didn’t hold a gun on Richard Simmons when they’d been standing below him and his men, preparing to execute them. His gun had been on Agent Washington, the greatest threat.

But one of his men had been. And it wasn’t like Dex will care if it’s Locus or his men who kill Simmons. Who Simmons is to Dex, Locus isn’t sure. He can’t get a straight answer out of Dex, and his observations of Simmons have revealed no further answers. He doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Locus can keep Dex safe. He can manage this much. He can protect him from this, from himself and from Felix.

Afterwards…

Locus doesn’t know what will happen next. Chorus will be dead, and with it, Dex’s friends. He will never forgive Locus for this.

And perhaps he’ll be right in that.

Locus has known for a long time now that he does not deserve Dex or Kai’s affection. He’s not meant for that. He is a soldier. His purpose is to follow orders. Nothing more, nothing less. He left them, telling himself it was for the best, and they both fell into the army anyway. Grif has scars he won’t explain; entire skin grafts that don’t even match. His files don’t have the answers, but they do tell Locus about a massacre, on a colony. A massacre of which Grif was the sole survivor.

At least Kai is safe, tucked away in Blood Gulch, a soldier, but one still untried by battle, unscarred by the horrors of war. After this, perhaps Locus can take Dex there. So at least they can be together, even if he’s not welcome.

Perhaps it would have been for the best had he never entered their lives. If not for him, maybe things would have been better.

“You’re hiding him,” Felix says. “You’re fucking hiding him.”

Locus says nothing. Let Felix think what he will.

“You’ve gone soft,” Felix marvels. “Holy shit, you’re…”

“Is there a point to this?”

“What happened to the perfect soldier?” Felix demands. “We’ve got orders, are you seriously going to throw it all away for one snot-nosed brat all grown up?”

Locus turns his back on Felix and goes to fetch his weapons. “We need to get going.”

“I’m going to find him,” Felix says, and there’s something almost unsteady to the way he’s speaking. “Our orders are to kill all of them, remember? I’m going to find him and then I’m going to do what you’re too weak to do—”

Locus moves without thinking, without blinking, without hesitating. He slams Felix up against the wall, hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing tightly.

“I said,” Locus growls, “the situation is handled.” Felix scrabbles at his hand, trying to break his grip. With his other hand, Locus grabs one of his wrists and pins it to the wall, out of reach of his knives. The other hand might be able to do something, but Locus’ reach is long, so he doubts Felix can reach anything fatal. Just in case, he drags Felix off the ground, and he kicks and struggles harder, breathing raggedly.

“What are you doing?” Felix gasps out, thrashing in his grip. “Let go of me, you—”

Locus lets go, and Felix drops to the ground, gasping. “So that’s how it is? Partner?” Felix spits.

“We have other targets to deal with,” Locus says. He feels cold and impassive, staring at Felix on the ground. The last time… it had been that night. The night he’d decided to not come back. Something about this is different. He can’t figure out what, exactly, it is, but things are different.

Felix is glaring at him through the helmet.

For a moment, Locus wonders if Felix is about to attack. But instead he laughs, getting to his feet. “Just remember, I’ve got dibs on Lavernius Tucker.”

“Very well. Get ready to leave.”

Dex will hate him for this, Locus thinks, picking up his sniper rifle as they prepare to move out. But he will be alive, and that is what matters. Locus will protect him.

#Come On Home AU #Steph Writes #Dexter Grif #Locus #Grimmons #Red vs Blue

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bloodgulchblue-blog · 7 years ago

Text

In The Shade - a RvB fic

Grif can tell Sarge what they weren't doing parked in the shade for 2 hours.

Rating: M // Length: 2549 words // Pairing: Grimmons Tags: some sappiness, some nsfw, some angst, who knows where i was going with this one? not me!

“What were you doing parked in the shade for two hours?” “Well, I can tell you weren’t doing...”

"I'm stopping here, I need to catch my breath." Grif said, driving back behind a huge pillar of rock and into the shade it created. "You know, you have a really good arm with that stuff. I never would have thought you could hit that foot-shaped boulder with the dynamite. Where did you get that stuff anyway?" "Sarge keeps a large stash of it by his nightstand... I always thought it was kind of odd, but since I'm the only other one allowed in his room since he hates you and Donut can't even find his way around the fucking base, I can borrow some whenever I want to," Simmons was speaking with a matter-of-fact tone as he fidgeted with his helmet. He stopped as he finished his sentence to face Grif again. "Why does he hate you so much, anyway?" "Some people just make mistakes, I guess. I'm pretty awesome, so I mean, it's his loss." Grif was crossing his arms now, and Simmons narrowed his eyes behind his visor and sighed dismissively. "Yyyeah, nevermind, I remember why.. Okay. Anyways, I'm starting to get a bad feeling about parking here." Looking down at the floor of the jeep below him, he couldn't pinpoint what was making him feel weird. "What? Why? Simmons, don't tell me you miss Sarge that bad already, we've been gone like fifteen minutes." "Huh? No! Don't be stupid, it's the jeep, it sounds different." "Sounds different? Man, you're hearing things now. You're losing it for real." "No, I'm not." Simmons was losing patience for his orange-armored teammate. Though, honestly he had none to begin with. "Loosen up, Dimmons. We're just stopping for a little bit anyways." Grif was having none of it and slid down in his seat, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. He fully intended to take a nap. "Wait, 'Dimmons'?" Simmons asked, unsure whether to even be offended. "Yeah, Dimmons. Like, dim. As in not bright. See? You didn't even catch something simple like that. Dimmons." The maroon-armored man just stared at him. "That is the dumbest thing you've ever come up with. It's almost impressive." he remarked. Grif didn't respond, just sunk lower in his seat. So the silence began. It had been about five minutes and all the sound there was was the low rumble of the Warthog; And five minutes of silence is a long fucking time in Blood Gulch. Simmons was fidgety from the feeling of anxiety regarding the Warthog, but Grif couldn't be more relaxed. Simmons looked around for something to do. His sight caught the dynamite again for a second, but he decided that wasn't the best idea. He briefly thought about how he wished Grif was even capable of having second thoughts like that. The Warthog shifted as Grif sat up some. "I'm bored." "Let's go back then. The jeep is being weird." "It's the same as it was ten minutes ago, Simmons. Just let it go," "I'm serious!" "You're always serious, could you take it easy for a while? Jeez, I should expect nothing less from the kiss-ass." Grif sneered. Simmons groaned. "Fine, but when something goes wrong- not if, when- you do not get to blame it on me. And I get to say I told you so." "Fine. Tightass."

Ten minutes went by. Vague conversation led to deeper questions and discussions about things going on in the Gulch. Simmons seemed way more into the discussion than Grif unless Grif was the one talking. It was actually sort of nice; It was refreshing compared to the constant ridiculous grumbling and bickering. They were both thinking it.

“So, what I’m saying is, honestly, who fuckin’ cares which side of the canyon we’re on, whichever color we’re wearing or anything like that?” Grif threw his hands up in a heated shrug, nearly knocking one into Simmons’s helmet. “Jesus... Yeah, I mean you’re right, it’s pretty goddamn stupid.Especially given that it’s a canyon, with no fucking merit to have control over anyway. Not to mention the fact that you’d do the same amount of not working on either side.” Simmons agreed, holding Grif’s hand away from his helmet. The orange tinted soldier pulled it away and shifted in his seat to face him more.”Dude, I don’t even know what you guys look like.” he stated with a voice of discontent. That clearly had been on his mind for a while. There was a pause.

“Take your helmet off.”

“What? No! Why? You take your helmet off!”

“Okay, fine. Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Don’t say it like that. Why would I do that? I’d probably die if I did.”

“Why would you die? Stop being a baby and take it off; Look, same time,” Grif put his hands on the sides of his helmet, ready to pull it off. Simmons knew Grif may be lazy, but that never stops him from being stubborn as hell when he wants something. He can be stubborn as hell about being lazy as hell. But right now, he wanted him... Wait, that sounded weird. Scratch that. Simmons caved.

“Fine, same time. God this is so fucking stupid.” he remarked, but his hands went up to his helmet anyways. “Ready?”

“Okay, one... Two... Three!” Grif counted down and Simmons pulled off his helmet. Only Simmons.

Grif hadn’t pulled hard enough to get it off the first time, and then stopped trying as he got... Distracted. Simmons’s tan skin and red hair are what he saw first, then his out-of-focus brown eyes, then, oh god, his freckles. Grif’s eyes were wide behind his visor, and suddenly his helmet was really hot. Simmons was just pissed off and embarrassed, glaring at him for fooling him into being the only one without his helmet. He reached over and put his hands on top of Grif’s on his helmet, ready to pull it off. “No, I’m not being the only one to do this, fuck you. Take that thing off, asshole. That’s not fair!” Simmons was pulling on the helmet, but from his angle it wasn’t exactly easy. Grif snapped out of it. “Okay, okay, fine, Jesus... Let go of me! I’m taking it off!” he knocked Simmons’s hands away and slid his helmet off of his head. His brown hair bounced down in a fluff. Simmons grabbed his glasses from where he’d put them in his armor and slid them onto his face.

Their eyes met, and there was silence. Simmons looked him over; His dark skin and the hazel eyes capturing him in an instant. Grif had a couple of tiny moles on his face, one under his left eye and one right above his jawline... It was cute, Simmons thought. Then he realized what he was thinking and now both of their faces were hot.

Staring at eachother was a strange experience. Both of them didn’t want to look away, but also didn’t want to seem weird. Not to mention now both of their cheeks were hot. It was getting to where they were aching to put their hands on the other’s face to closer examine it. Grif cleared his throat. “Uh. You wear... Glasses?” he asked, speaking up after what seemed like ages. That made Simmons look down and away a bit. “Yeah, my visor has the prescription I need though, so I only carry them around in case my visor cracks or something. I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t with you guys around. It’s good to be prepared.” he explained. Grif was amazed to finally put this voice to this face. Simmons thought the same. “So,” Simmons said, thought he started it and had no idea where he was going with it.

“Yeah. So. Uh, this is usually the part where I’d initiate truth or dare or something. If you were a girl.” Catching himself with that remark, it sounded more forced than ever. Are you kidding? Who knows how many years of sexual tension they had built up with their bickering and with Grif’s occasional gay remark, and how could we forget Grif’s calling Simmons gay. Of course he’d propose something as childish as that. Simmons knew something like that was coming eventually. He rolled his eyes, looking away from him and crossing his arms. “That’s the dumbest thing you could have said right now.” he said, not meeting his eyes. He looked troubled. Grif furrowed his eyebrows and looked at him, trying to see his face better again. “Uh, are you okay dude...?” he asked, kind of confused, but sounding more impatient as he wanted to see his face more and now the guy’s fuckin’ hiding it or something.

“Yeah, of course I’m fine? Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Simmons replied defensively. He seemed insecure about his appearance, though Grif had run into some hints towards that before. “Is this like... Like when you hide in the bathroom and cry, and then I go in there and the mirror’s all cracked up from you punching the shit out of your reflection?” he asked bluntly. Simmons tensed. Ouch. Grif sighed. “I don’t know why you do that. I think you look good, honestly. You know, for a dude.”

Simmons bit the inside of his cheek, looking back at Grif as he put his hand on his shoulder. Grif patted there, looking at him. “Cheer up, jackass. I mean, look at me. You could be this unlucky.” he said with a little laugh. “This is the only time I’ll admit you’re hotter than me. Hope you recorded that because I’m not saying it again.” Simmons’s face was hot again.

“Oh yeah. I got that on recording for sure.” he said, and Grif huffed.

“Good, then now you have something new to jerk off to when Sarge won’t tell you ‘Good work, Simmons!’“ he teased.

Simmons groaned. “God, you’re unbearable.”

Grif moved a little closer to him. “Hey, uh.” he had no control over the words that were leaving his mouth, they poured out like a waterfall pieced together from rash thoughts, “So, I mean, we’re alone, and I know you like what you see, and if I admit that so do I, do you think that maybe uh... We could do something about that?” he was looking at Simmons while he leaned kind of closer. Simmons’s eyes widened.

“What? Dude, and you call me gay all the time? That was gay. You want to do gay stuff with me?” he was in awe, taken aback by Grif’s proposition, but Grif took it as him shooting him down.

“Fine, okay, yeah, nevermind.”

“No,wait I uh. Okay, sure, I’m not really... Opposed. I guess. God, this is stupid.” his cheeks were burning, and he didn’t even know what Grif had in mind. Grif didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the yes before Simmons changed his mind, grabbing the ginger by the front of his armor and yanking him closer, kissing him immediately. God, they’d both forgotten what human contact felt like, and, well, Simmons never knew. Not kissing anyways. And definitely not more than that. Simmons was so tense that Grif broke away from the kiss to speak again.

“Dude, chill the fuck out, we’re the only two in the middle of this desert. Your secret is totally safe with me.” he said mockingly. A look of bewilderment crossed Simmons’s already distressed expression.

“What? My secret?! This was your idea!” he argued, and Grif of course ignored that completely and kissed him again, closing his eyes. Simmons couldn’t help but give in, allowing himself to, as Grif said it, ‘chill the fuck out’. He melted into the contact and his eyelids fell half shut. He leaned in slightly closer and put his hands on the sides of Grif’s face, then moved one to the orange soldier’s hair. This wasn’t happening, he thought, he’d wake up with a boner any minute now, he was pretty sure of it. Though, it just kept happening. It was still happening. Still. It’s really happening. Oh god, he thought, this is really happening and I have no idea how it works. Simmons grew tense again and Grif just moved his hands to wrap around Simmons’s middle and pull him closer. Simmons broke away and opened his eyes, looking at Grif, who then also opened his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Grif asked him, not trying to overstep any weird boundaries with him or something... Boundaries were something Simmons had a lot of, many of which Grif overstepped on a daily basis. But these would be in a whole new category.

“Yes I’m... I just don’t really, uh. Know how to do this.” he admitted, though he was aware that this was common knowledge.

“You’re doing fine, just-” Grif was interrupted by the Warthog sputtering under them and promptly falling out of commission completely. “Oh, god damn it. You have got to be kidding me.”

Simmons’s eyes grey wide and he moved back from Grif, though he stayed in his arms how he was being held. “I knew it! I knew there was something wrong with the jeep and you didn’t believe me, and now it’s dead! We’re dead!” he yelled in his usual panicked voice that came out when anything went wrong. Grif held onto him tighter. “It’s. Fine. Jesus, Simmons, you’d think by now you’d learn how to let something go but here we are, in the middle of sharing a fuckin’ moment, and you’re intent on yelling about something that doesn’t matter.”

“It does, matter, Grif! A lot!” he was this close to jumping out of the car and running back on his own, but something was keeping him from that. And it wasn’t the fact that Grif had a hold on him like he was the last person on the planet. It was the fact that it was Grif, and that we was in this situation. With him. “It’s... Fine, it’ll be... Okay...” he slowly calmed down, resting back to where he was before.

“Thank Christ... Uh, so where were we?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

A while later, and I mean a while, they arrived back to the others. They had a few more marks under their armor than they did going in, and under their helmets they wore wide, knowing grins. They both knew it’d be back to normal soon, though. Approaching them was none other than Sarge.

“Grif, Simmons, where’ve you two been?”

Simmons straightened up. “Our patrol didn’t go exactly as planned, Sarge.”

Yeah, I’ll say, Grif thought with a dumb smirk on his now chapped lips.

Sarge furrowed his brows beneath his visor and was paying closer attention now. “Did you find something? Wait a minute, where’s the jeep?”

Grif took a breath. This was gonna be interesting to explain away. “Yeeeah, it’s like this.”

#red versus blue #red vs blue #rvb #grif #simmons #grimmons #rvb fanfic #this might be inconsistent #i dont want to reread it again because i might begin to hate it and end up just deleting it and i need to get it out here #i forgot about it for a bit actually

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dragonslaved · 7 years ago

Note

grimmons or tuckington

porque no los dos

Grimmons

who cooks normally?: simmons. grif is better and knows what to do, he just also doesn’t care

how often do they fight?: CONSTANTLYYYYYYY they’re an old married couple by season 2, that was just foreshadowing

what do they do when they’re away from each other?: if it’s when they’re fighting, grif goes to smoke and nap, simmons goes to run diagnostics tests or nerd shit. if it’s just day to day…… same story

nicknames for each other?: “lazy asshole” and “supernerd”

who is more likely to pay for dinner?: this implies anyone would pay. I 100% believe grif would dine and dash leaving simmons scrambling because no grif!! they have to pay!! before he runs after him because he doesn’t want to get left behind

who steals the covers at night?: simmons

what would they get each other for gifts?: they actually do try to put

some effort into gifts for each other when they count (birthdays, anniversary) so grif always gets simmons like. some big nerd gift or a new d&d book or how to books because he knows simmons likes learning how to do new shit. simmons gets grif so many hard to find snacks that he has to have shipped in from other places, that grif can’t just mail order to be delivered.

who remembers things?: simmons is very loud about the things he remembers. grif claims he doesn’t remember shit, but he’s always correcting simmons when he clearly does remember a lot.

who cusses more?: grif. forever and always.

what would they do if the other one was hurt?: emotionally? tell each other to suck it up when they’re in front of the others. privately actually attempt to talk about it because talking is what they do best but they’re also kind of bad at it. physically, holy shit they lose their minds depending on the severity. one gets shot or mortally wounded, there’s a lot of shouting and demanding for help. one gets a papercut, there’s a lot of shouting and demanding for them to shut up it’s not that bad oh my god you had body part transplants and this is what you’re crying about.

who kissed who first?: simmons kissed him first. grif never really saw the need since hey they know where they stand with each other but simmons is just !! nOPE GONNA SMOOCH.

who made the first move?: before any first kiss, grif. simmons gets too wrapped up in his own head initially humhawing over everything so grif gave him that nudge. after that, it’s all simmons.

who started the relationship?: griiiifffff he’s a lot more self aware than simmons is and how he feels without running himself in circles (usually)

Tuckington

who cooks normally?: Tucker. Tucker 100%, Tucker who was stationed for years in a canyon with an AI that barely remembered who he was and Caboose who gets too distracted to remember to take care of himself beyond eating a snack. Wash knows how to cook uuuhhh microwave meals tbh, whatever is less trouble because he’s been through so much and depression meals are a thing.

how often do they fight?: ALSO CONSTANTLY. While Simmons and Grif fight over inconsequential bullshit, a lot of Tucker and Wash’s fights are about Big Things that they use inconsequential bullshit to start. People think they’re fighting over Tucker using the last of the milk, but it’s really about that one thing Tucker said that one time that got under Wash’s skin and was eating away at him.

what do they do when they’re away from each other?: Wash does a lot of work out, yoga, meditation. Watching cat videos or playing with his own cat if they’re in a domestic place they can have one. Tucker either sleeps, angry jerks off, or calls Junior. Tries to read but honestly his attention span doesn’t allow much for it.

nicknames for each other?: Listen I’m pretty sure “Asshole” and “Buzzkill” is the only answer here no matter what I think.

who is more likely to pay for dinner?: Wash usually, 9 times out of 10. Tucker does it for the Very Special Occasions when he’s trying to be romantic before it all blows up in his face.

who steals the covers at night?: Both of them. Wash ultimately is a self-heating furnace but he still rolls over and takes the sheet with him half the time.

what would they get each other for gifts?: Tucker always tries to focus in on what Wash likes. So self help books, cat books. Every now and then he’ll throw in an erotica fiction or something to see Wash blush. Just really simple things because he knows Wash appreciates those more than big extravagant things. Wash usually gets Tucker hair care products, skin products. But every now and then it’ll be something big, like a trip to some amusement park or something. The boy loves dumb things.

who remembers things?: Tucker. Tucker has to remember enough for both of them since Wash has a hard time remembering himself some days.

who cusses more?: Tucker. Every time he says something Wash is just “DEEP BREATH ok that’s fine.”

what would they do if the other one was hurt?: Emotionally, they give each other space before coming back after way waaaay too long to talk about it. Physically, they make sure the other isn’t like. Dying before destroying the heck out of whatever hurt them. Tank? Punch it to death. Papercut? Rip that paper to shreds with screams of “Tucker no those had the only copy of the instructions to put together this Space IKEA coffee table!!”. It’s bad.

who kissed who first?: Wash made that first move after long enough of fucking around and life’s too short so why not.

who made the first move?: Wash. Again, life’s too short and he ad a moment of clarity and because Tucker was still figuring out himself and his realizing he’s bi.

who started the relationship?: Tucker. After enough regular meetups he just straight up asked hey so uhhhhhh are we like exclusive now or, and Wash kept trying to tiptoe around saying Yes before Tucker just laughed and kissed him and said yeah I get it, we’re good.

#red vs blue #rvb #tuckington #grimmons #Anonymous

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a-taller-tale · 8 years ago

Text

Love Letter

“Matchmaking” square for Red Team Bingo Summary: Grif should never have written anything down. Grimmons, based on this brilliant idea and sketch from @sabishiita.

Hey Simmons,

You’ll never hear this from me but-

Grif crossed out the note.

Doc wanted me to do this stupid fucking exercise to let out my feelings on paper and I told him it was stupid and now I’m doing it anyway. Fuck.

He didn’t know why Doc was suddenly taking an interest in his mental health. Grif should’ve been wary of him after the last time the group had a therapy session, but Grif really didn’t know what to say to Simmons. This was as good an idea as any.

That morning, Simmons was losing his shit at Grif over something that didn’t matter at all. Again. It had been happening more and more often lately and Grif was getting sick of it. He'd tried to stalk off but Simmons kept following him.

The frustration bubbled over until Grif was yelling. “Why don’t you find someone else to bother? I’m so sick of your fucking face.”

Simmons bit his lip, then turned on his heel and left before he could try to backtrack. Grif didn’t lose his temper often, and when he did it burned out quick. The look on Simmons’ face was enough to have it drain out of him immediately. Simmons was less of a crybaby than he had been back in Blood Gulch, but Grif definitely made him cry. He felt like an asshole.

Lately Simmons was just so… It was hard to put into words.

I’m not sick of you, okay? I shouldn’t have said it. I know that’s a thing for you.

But its

Sometimes

Sometimes I get pissed when we have the same fights over and over and I don’t know why. I’ve always been this way and you’ve always been you and we fit.

Why does me being normal suddenly piss you off so much?

Okay, so sometimes Grif still liked to mess with Simmons. A lot. It was hilarious to watch his face contort from disbelief to anger and back again. But it didn’t usually backfire like this. Fighting was what they did. But there was an edge to it now that he didn’t recognize.

Doc and Donut had seen the whole thing, of course, and kept trying to give him advice when he didn’t want to talk about it.

“If you can’t explain how you’re feeling out loud, it can help to try it another way,” Doc pointed out after Simmons had stormed off. “Like on paper. Pretend you’re writing him a letter. Use ‘I feel’ statements. Then you’ll know how to respond next time this comes up and ideally won’t use your words as hurtful weapons!”

“Yeah, thanks Doc. That’s really helpful,” he said flatly.

Donut piped in. “I keep a diary and it helps loads with my secret feelings and fantasies! Here, you can even use my notebook.” He produced a lightish-red notebook with a matching pen from seemingly nowhere.

“I’m not going to write down my feelings about Simmons,” Grif groused.

Doc shrugged. “Suit yourself! We can’t help anyone who won’t help themselves.” He switched to his O’Malley voice. “That will be a $25 copay for the fifteen minutes of talk therapy I’m never getting back.”

Grif flipped him off. “Bill me.”

But when he got back to his room, Donut’s notebook still clutched in his hand, he felt like trying.

Are we even friends? he wrote.

Fuck, that was dramatic. Sounded too much like Simmons. He scribbled it out.

I don’t want to lose you.

Okay, the melodrama wasn’t budging. Maybe writing it out would purge it.

It’s fine if we never get together. It’s fine if we never make out or cuddle or nap together or move in together if we ever get out of here. I’m okay. I’m always okay.

But I need you in my face right now. I love your face. I love you.

Grif stopped writing. Stared at the page. Then he crumpled it up and tossed it at the trash.

Thirty seconds later he actually got his ass up and crumpled it into a tiny ball and buried it deep in the can. Had to make sure no one would find it and read it. He’d burn it, but he hadn’t picked up a new lighter since Simmons confiscated his last one.

He’d watch TV and not think about Simmons and how it felt now that they weren’t in sync anymore. How it felt like Grif was going to lose him.

Donut and Doc came to his door to collect Donut’s feelings journal back and Grif tossed it at them without looking up.

When Simmons came back into their shared room, late, he didn’t look at Grif or say anything as he got changed to go to bed. Grif was in his own bed and pretended to be sleeping, watching him through slit eyes. Simmons’ expression alternated between sullen and kicked puppy, and he eyed the overflowing wastebasket in the room. “You never take out the fucking trash,” he muttered, clicking off the light and climbing into bed.

Grif’s eyes popped open, mind zooming in on exactly where in the trash his scribbled note was and racing through the unlikely scenario that Simmons would find it. The nerd’s anxiety was starting to rub off on him.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get any sleep until he did it, for the first time in years, Dexter Grif voluntarily took out the trash. After he was sure the nerd was sleeping and wouldn’t see him anyway.

Donut and Doc were snickering at each other a lot more than usual at lunch the next day.

Donut so obviously wanted him to ask what was up that Grif just continued eating until Donut couldn’t hold it in anymore. Sure enough, he couldn’t help spilling. “Now don’t get mad, okay?”

“Hm?” Grif grunted.

“Weeeellllll, I might have done something fun to get Simmons to forgive you for saying those hurtful things,” Donut said.

Grif paused with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “What did you do?”

Doc volunteered this time, because they were the fucking wonder twins these days. “I noticed the torn page in Donut’s secret diary and we thought we’d do something to help you crazy kids.”

“You bear down really hard, Grif,” Donut said, ignoring the horror that was creeping into Grif’s expression. “It was easy to make a copy of that beautiful love letter you wrote Simmons and leave it on the floor next to his desk. He’ll think it was an accident. Finding someone’s secret love confession is the best trope!”

“What the fuck, Donut?”

“This way he’ll know that hiding your love for him all these years is the reason you snapped at him. It’s romantic!” Donut made a heart with his hands.

"And if you lose everything in the process I’ll forgive you the copay,” O’Malley cackled.

“O’Malley, you know I don’t like that kind of negative talk,” Donut scolded.

Grif really wanted to punch both of them in the face for not minding their own business, but it was his own fault anyway for listening to Doc and Donut.

There was no time. Simmons would be going back to the room for a break after the morning training his squad any minute.

Grif ran faster than any shotgun had ever motivated him to. He was out of breath when he got to the room and he thought maybe he’d made it, but when he opened the door Simmons was already there, clutching the piece of paper in his hands and standing very still.

Grif grabbed at his hair. This was the nail in the coffin. Simmons would act weird around him, ask for a different room. Things would never be the same again. And unlike any other time in his life, he couldn’t make himself not care this time. He’d lost a lot before. Losing Simmons too, after everything…

Simmons looked up over his shoulder. His eyes were wide and questioning, a flush over his nose and in his cheeks and a little frown on his face like when he was trying to figure something out. Grif didn’t know what his own face was doing, but whatever it was made Simmons’ breath catch as he took it in.

“You weren’t supposed to see that—” Grif started, his mind racing for any excuse. “It’s not—” He didn’t have any excuses. Simmons knew it was his handwriting. He was writing a play? Transcribing something for Donut? So hangry he went into a fugue state and didn’t know what he’d written?

He could usually talk Simmons into believing anything when he really needed to, but his brain couldn’t get past the fact that he had to learn how to be alone again now because there was no way Simmons would take this well.

Simmons marched up to him and pulled Grif in by his shoulders. It took three seconds too long for Grif to react, but Simmons cupped his jaw and Grif’s hand went to Simmons’ hip and Simmons was kissing him. Grif was kissing him back.

After all these years it felt more natural than Grif had imagined it. Simmons’ hand went up into his hair and stroked and Grif melted against him.

“I love your face too, Grif,” Simmons said quietly when they finally parted.

“Yeah,” Grif said, vaguely aware he was having an out of body experience, but pretty okay with it actually. “You too.”

Simmons was still bright red and would probably freak later, but he snickered at Grif now and gave him a peck on the cheek. “That’s for taking out the trash.”

Hey Simmons,

You’ll never hear this from me but-

Doc wanted me to do this stupid fucking exercise to let out my feelings on paper and I told him it was stupid and now I’m doing it anyway. Fuck.

I’m not sick of you, okay? I shouldn’t have said it. I know it’s a thing for you.

But its

Sometimes

Sometimes I get pissed when we have the same fights over and over and I don’t know why. I’ve always been this way and you’ve always been you and we fit.

Why does me being normal suddenly piss you off so much?

Are we even friends anymore?

I don’t want to lose you.

It’s fine if we never get together. It’s fine if we never make out or cuddle or nap together or move in together if we ever get out of the army. I’m okay. I’m always okay.

But I need you in my face right now. I love your face. I love you.

#rvb #rvb fic #grimmons #my writing #rvb bingo wars #red team entry

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justtkatt · 1 year ago

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Sleepy grimmons

#rvb #red vs blue #rvb grif #dexter grif #rvb simmons #dick simmons #grimmons #rvb grimmons #i was drawing this in a public space #just katts art #grimmons napping is the best

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riathedreamer · 8 years ago

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For Red Team’s “First kiss”

Did somebody say Grimmons’ first kiss? (I did. I whisper it into my pillow every night.)

Bulletproof In which Simmons tries to seduce Grif.

“It was an accident,” Simmons declared firmly after picking up an antiseptic wipe.

Grif’s reddened back was turned towards him. The Hawaiian grudgingly rested his face in his palms as he waited for the cyborg to begin. “Suuuuure,” he spat, closing his eyes as he tried to ready himself for the sharp pain.

“He didn’t mean to shoot you,” Simmons told him again. He took in the damage: the shotgun shell had not truly managed to break through the armor so at least he did not have any real wound to deal with. But the skin underneath the armor had been bruised; it was all angrily red and in some places parts of the skin had been slightly ripped off, resulting in some blood. Not enough to make Simmons feel nauseous but it needed to be disinfected.

“Which is why he aimed at my back and pulled the trigger,” Grif said sarcastically. His muscles were tense. “Just get it over with, Simmons.”

“It’s not that bad,” the cyborg tried to comfort him. He kept the wipe hovering above the bruised skin. “And it’s not like you haven’t tried it before.”

“Yeah, Sarge has a nasty habit of shooting me,” he grumbled. “Which is why I know this stings like hell.”

“Brace yourself for it then,” Simmons said and wiped the scrape.

Grif’s response was immediate. “Fucking shit!” He launched himself forward, scrambling towards the other end of their shared bedroom.

“Grif!” Simmons sounded like he was scolding him as he left the bed to follow his teammate. It almost looked like he was about to drag him back by the elbow.

The Hawaiian sat scowling on the floor, sending the cyborg a glance with narrowed eyes. “It hurts.”

“Of course it does, dipshit. But it’ll hurt worse if it gets infected. So you either let me do this now or I’ll send Doctor Grey after your ass.”

“She doesn’t want my ass,” Grif muttered sourly but slowly rose from the floor, “She wants Sarge’s.”

Simmons closed his eyes. “Thank you for that image.”

“Who knows what the two of them were doing on that Fed base before we found them…” Grif continued to grumble as he gingerly sat down on the bed again. It creaked under his weight. He watched in suspicion how Simmons prepared another wipe. “I’m just saying that here we – some of us, especially you – were worried ‘bout them, and we fucking fought and rescued them, and we’re all happy together and all that reunion bullshit – and then Sarge thinks it’s funny to shoot me already? We’ve been in Armonia for like a day? Can’t we wait with killing me until this war is actually over?”

“Well, he has probably missed it.”

“I didn’t fucking sign up to help with Sarge’s trigger-finger abstinences,” Grif grumbled and hunched forward. “Next time tell him to aim at Felix when we find him.”

“You could have tried not to insults Sarge,” Simmons huffed. “It might have decreased your chances of getting hit by a shotgun.”

Grif had closed his eyes again, waiting the fire that would ignite on his back. “Just saying, I certainly didn’t miss this while they were gone.”

“I’m glad they’re back.”

“Oh, I know. You haven’t cried in your sleep for like three days.” Grif pried one eye open. “What the fuck are you waiting for, Simmons? You aren’t really helping with the anticipation.”

“Well, I know you’re just going to freak out again.” Simmons was still clutching the wipe in his hand. “It would be easier if you would just quit all that moaning.”

“Just get it over with.”

Grif braced himself.

And nothing happened.

“Could you hurry it up a bit, Simmons?” he hissed. He was pretty sure the blood was drying on his back at this point. All he wanted was to get through this so he could take a well-deserved nap. Getting shot was hard work. “I’m asking you to clean the scrapes, not fucking kiss it better.”

Simmons was quiet for a moment, hand still hovering above his back, but then he asked very quietly, “…do you want me to do that?”

Grif choked on air; something he wasn’t even sure was physically possible. He then turned around so quickly that the motion pulled his sore skin; he winched. “Are you fucking serious?!” Grif gasped, staring into Simmons’ very red face.

“No. Yes. I… depends?” the cyborg sputtered. In his bewilderment he accidently dropped the swipe on the floor.

Grif blinked. The corners of his mouth were lifted upwards as he smugly asked, “Simmons, are you trying to seduce me?”

“No.”

“But you’re asking me if I want you to kiss it better?”

“…yes?” Simmons scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting towards the floor. “It’s just, well, you know…”

“I don’t,” Grif huffed. “What, is my back worse off than you told me? Am I dying? Am I fucking dying, Simmons?! Are we back at that ‘confessions-before-death-by-firing-squad-shit’ again?”

The cyborg’s cheeks were flaming at this point. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine. Am I dying or…?”

“No. I mean, not now but…”

“Shit, you give the best reassurances, Simmons.” Grif rolled his eyes, sticking his own face closer to Simmons’ who pulled away but only slightly. “So I’m not dying at the moment. Why are you suddenly all about making out?”

The cyborg looked like he might be about to flee from the room at any moment but Grif sat at the edge of the bed, preventing him from escaping. With no other options, Simmons looked at his hands and thickly revealed, “Well, we’re all together now but… Who knows how long it’ll stay this time? I mean, shit happens…”

Grif nodded. “Shit does have a nasty habit of happening, yes.”

“And you have a stupid habit of getting shot,” Simmons reminded him dryly. “So I thought… Maybe you wanted it? Now?”

“Before unspecified shit happens?”

“Yeah… While we can… If you want.”

Grif shifted, crossing his arms. He tried to gain eye-contact but Simmons kept looking away. “So you’re asking me if I want you to fucking kiss it better?”

“You don’t have to be an ass about it,” the cyborg muttered, one hand buried in Grif’s worn blanket.

Grif folded his hands. “Let’s suppose I say yes. You’d do it?”

“Grif-“

“Like, with no requirements? Not even me taking a bath?”

Simmons slowly looked up. “Well, I’d prefer-“

“Do we specify which part needs to be kissed better? ‘cause I know you have a thing for kissing ass-“

“That’s it!” the cyborg exclaimed, voice breaking slightly. He stood up, throwing his arms up as well. “This is a joke. Obviously. And I’m the punchline.”

Before he could leave, however, Grif reached out to grab his wrist. “Let’s say I bit my lip. You still up for it?”

Simmons stared at him. Color was once again returning to his cheeks – the color red, more specifically. “You done being an ass?”

“For the moment. You could shut me up – oomph.”

And so Simmons did. He slammed his lips against Grif’s, teeth clanking inelegantly together, tongues searching for each other.

Grif fell over, dragging Simmons with him, and they landed on top of the bed, limbs tangled together. The Hawaiian first pulled back when one of Simmons’ hands returned a hug by pulling him closer, accidently brushing against some of his scrapes.

“Ow,” he said, ending the kiss with a winch.

“Sorry.”

Grif smirked, looking straight into Simmmons’ eyes. “Kiss it better.”

#rvb bingo wars #tiny mention of blood #grimmons #slight sargeXgrey #swearing #mah bois #grif #simmons #my rvb stuff

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rubykgrant · 2 years ago

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(yet another sappy Grimmons thing I wrote a while back, this one with some Grif Family Angst thrown in)

Grif feels like he’s got a burning hole inside his chest... the kind of white-hot cold fire you get when you’ve been running for a long time (horrible, and yet another reason to avoid running as much as possible), or when you’re trying not to cry.

He certainly hasn’t been running.

Grif doesn’t want this to be happening right now, he’s old enough to be able to calm himself down... right? It was just being here, and being around THEM; it was throwing him back a few years. Well, that was exactly the point, wasn’t it?

One thing he missed about being a kid- when he had a rotten day that caused him to cry his eyes out, he could sleep it off. Even just a nap helped. Once he woke up, the bad mood was out of his system. Now, after years and years and YEARS of dealing with all kinds of unpleasant situations, his bad moods linger.

Grif KNEW it was going to be a rocky visit with his parents. That was just a given. He thought he had prepared himself to deal with it, and for a while they both even seemed kinda-sorta OK, so he thought it wouldn’t be so bad...

Then they had a fight. Because it didn’t matter how old he was, or how many years had gone by without seeing them, his mom and dad still made him feel the same as always. From their point of view, they were just so set in their ways, it was impossible to act different. From their point of view, this was just typical behavior, so their kids (now grown) should be used to it by now. From their point of view, they weren’t THAT awful (their own parents had been much worse, so by that logic, everything they did was excusable).

Without using crude language... Dexter Grif did not appreciate their outlook (Doc would be so proud of him, phrasing it delicately like that). From his point of view, they had set a pretty poor example... and he wanted it to finally stop. Or, if nothing else, show them he was done playing the same old games.

He had tried to have a mature, rational conversation with them, explain why things had to change because HE had changed, his LIFE had changed, but no... they got defensive (which, he supposed, was fair), and then they started deflecting blame (which was NOT fair), and then said some shit that threw him back a few years, and suddenly he was so frustrated, he totally lost control, he felt like a little kid throwing a fit.

Grif doesn’t want to cry right now... because then it means he’s the same as always, he hasn’t really changed, and they’re both right.

Hot tears sting his eyes and roll down his cheeks as he hears their words repeat in his head… his mom, demanding to know why he thought he was “better” than her, when he was just a quitter, too. When it got too hard to keep taking care of Kai, when school was too difficult, whenever he had a job that was too demanding… he just gave up.

His dad, agreeing with her, and reminding his son that being selfish runs in the family. Eventually, “your man will figure out he’s too good for you”, and it will be too hard to stay together, and Dexter Grif will do what he does best; give up. Leave. Quit.

They had a point, he had left home, then school, and most jobs he had years ago, but was it really a fair comparison? His old life, and the way they still acted? It wasn’t the same… parents leaving their kids alone for days (sometimes weeks) because they can’t handle responsibilities, and a young man already feeling burnt-out in life, so he attempted to change it for the better. True, he wound up failing in college, and it just made sense after a while to give up on school, but he really TRIED.

He tried again, joining the Red Army of all things, because Grif figured if he couldn’t kick his own butt into working hard, the military sure could... and yeah, he had been afraid. Not of failing with school, but failing with life, because if he didn’t have a good job, he wouldn’t make enough money, and he’d have to start stealing stuff again, but he wasn’t a little kid anymore, grown-ups go to big-boy jail, which was exactly where his dad often wound up.

He was afraid of ruining Kai’s life too, either by being too pushy or too much of a push-over. She had to take care of herself, because he wasn’t good enough, and neither were their parents… he thought he had to go, or things would only get worse.

It turns out, being in a situation that makes you unhappy just makes all your bad habits intensify (not to mention, the fact that the entire military operation had been a twisted lie, but that was a whole OTHER problem). He stayed with it, though. He had stayed with those crazy morons he met in Blood Gulch, he had stayed with SIMMONS, for years and years, no matter how dangerous it got, no matter how difficult it got, and then...

He had quit.

Grif shudders, still burning up, and yet so cold. Quit-quit-quit-quit-QUIT. He can remember his voice back then, sounding so calm and certain, masking all kinds of spiteful emotions. Quit. It didn’t last, he came back to them the first chance he got, but still... he had quit.

He wishes it never happened... he wishes none of his friends even knew he was capable of doing something like that. Everybody always joked that he was lazy and selfish, which was fine when you’re just talking about skipping chores to go eat a bag of chips, but in important situations? Grif liked to think that USUALLY, he stepped-up. Even if he complained and whined the whole time, he was always THERE with them through it all... until he quit. He proved them right, he was lazy and selfish in the worst possible way. He wishes he was better. He wishes his mom was better. He wishes his dad was better. He wishes his parents weren’t right about him...

That burning feeling inside is worse than ever... Grif feels empty, so empty that it HURTS. It wasn’t fair, his mom and dad didn’t even KNOW what happened or how, but evidently they just knew their son oh-so well... enough to pick him apart and throw him back. They had been hurt by the things he said to them earlier, calling them out on their own BS, so they verbally lashed out... and that was yet another thing they all had in common. He can be an asshole sometimes, but he’s trying… he’s trying to talk about stuff better, explain what he’s feeling, why something bothers him, and also LISTEN, so he can apologize when he needs to.

Even after all that trying, he failed.

The worst part is, he still loves them. In that way lots of children helplessly love their parents, even after years of being mistreated and growing up... and he knows, they love him too. They also love Kai. When Grif left for college, BOTH of his parents had come home at once, which was so rare it was practically a sign of the apocalypse. He thought it was the perfect time, since his little sister wouldn’t be alone... but he had also been jealous. Why couldn’t mom and dad take care of HIM? It turned out not to matter, because it didn’t last; mom started staying out late, and dad got in trouble. Again.

They loved their children, yes, but that love was never enough to make them try to change, and THAT is what really gets to Grif. What if he didn’t love his friends enough? What if he didn’t love his sister enough? What if he didn’t love Simmons enough? What if he didn’t even love HIMSELF enough?

What if quitting wasn’t him “at his worst”, what if that was just... who he really was?

What if he couldn’t actually change?

Grif shakes once again, feeling his throat close, involuntarily choking on the sob that wants to happen, GREAT, he’s literally going to suffocate on his own sadness, this was so stupid, he was so stupid, he hates feeling like this, he never should have come here, he never should have tried to talk to his parents, he should just-

“Grif? Hey, um...” that was Simmons. He had come into the hotel room as quietly as possible without trying to be “sneaky”. He didn’t want to barge in and surprise Grif, but he also didn’t want to avoid Grif, either. “I’m not sure what happened earlier, but I know you’re upset... so, if uh, if you need me to just give you some space, I can do that, but if you wanna talk, I can definitely do that too, or we can just go to bed, or, y’know, whatever. Just let me know, and I’ll-”

Grif looks at his boyfriend- no, his fiancé- standing there in the dimly lit room, and it feels like Simmons is just so FAR. Out of reach. Grif wants to say something, ask Simmons for something, but he’s still choking on that damn SOB, and all that comes out is a soft noise… it sounds like a muffled gasp, slightly sharp, but barely louder than a whisper…

Simmons’ head snaps up suddenly when he hears that noise, and he walks toward Grif, somehow not rushing and yet, there he is, no longer all the way on the other side of them room, but right beside Grif. He reaches out to just barely touch Grif’s arms, looking at him intently with an almost unreadable expression (a mix of concern, anxiety, left-over resentment he still felt aimed at Grif’s parents for the shouting he listened to earlier, that serious and determined feeling he had when he KNEW he could fix a problem if he just thinks it through, and all kinds of fondness for the man he loves).

Grif presses himself into Simmons’ chest, wanting to be held, wanting to be loved, wanting this coldness he feels to be replaced by warmth. Simmons embraces him tightly, trying to silently tell Grif “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you”. For a long time, they just stand like that. Grif shivers, as if he’s been standing outside in a downpour of cold rain, and Simmons knows what that shivering is… he remembers shaking like that many times (often it was when he had failed, and knew he would get in trouble. Sometimes, it was before the failure, knowing it was probably going to happen somehow, and feeling despair crash down around him, because it was all his own fault for not being good enough).

Simmons’ hands move across Grif’s back, up and down Grif’s arms, trying to ground him and comfort him. Finally, Grif feels his chest un-lock, and instead of a sob, he lets out a long sigh. Tears come with it, but this isn’t like the painful crying… it is a release of pressure. The tears streak down his face, getting absorbed by the fabric of Simmons’ shirt. In sort of an ironic way, Grif thinks that is a perfect metaphor; Simmons, soaking up this bad mood, but without getting hurt in the process. At last, the frantic and COLD feeling starts to let go of him.

The way Simmons rocks them both from side-to-side slightly… Grif is almost in awe. His awkward nerd has become so confident, and so affectionate. All because of him. Because of Grif’s friendship, and then Grif’s love. Despite all the bad things he’s experienced, being held like this makes him feel like he’s just a little bit lucky. Grif’s hands slide up Simmons’ chest (touching the damp spots from his own tears). He presses his forehead into the crook of Simmons’ neck, in awe yet again, because it always feels so good when he does this… like he was meant to fit together with Simmons, right here.

#red vs blue #rvb #rvb fic #dexter grif #dick simmons #grimmons

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freysgalli · 8 years ago

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Grow Out of It

Summary: The military can change a person...and can make them realize some things about themselves. Simmons needs to respond to his parents video messages, but...there's a reason he's only responded via email.

Warnings: Language, Anxiety Attacks, Angst but kinda has a happy ending?, past abuse, emotional manipulation ADDITIONAL TAGS THAT ARE HUGE SPOILERS ARE IN THE TUMBLR TAGS!

Relationships: Eventual Grimmons. Gotta squint really hard this chapter.

Notes: Ok, got a LOT to say at the end of this (so please read endnotes). Shout out to @bloodmulch for being an awesome beta and giving me the idea for their stupid nerd argument! (and crying with me as I wrote this)

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 1: Hey Mom and Dad...

Simmons walks through the door to his room and promptly locks it. Leaning back against the door and swiping a hand down his face, he side eyes the computer on his desk. He knows he has to do this. He said he would respond as soon as he was assigned to his first base, and, well, that was...that was months ago.

Taking a deep breath, he walks over, moves the chair so it doesn’t scratch the floor, and slowly lowers himself to sit. He glares at the monitor for a minute before dragging a hand down his face and pressing a button to turn his desk lamp on and another to turn his computer on, his leg bouncing as the computer boots up.

He sent plenty of email messages, but his parents (well, his MOM) wanted to see the smiling face of their eldest child. They...they hadn’t seen his face since his first month at Basic. It was easier to not acknowledge the problem. It was BETTER for all parties involved, but his mother was practically in tears in the last video because she hadn’t seen her darling child in… fuck, had it really been 10 months?

He glances at the icons on the desktop, and hovers over the icon for video calls. Soldiers are allowed to make direct calls in their off hours; he knows this, but...he clicks to make a video recording instead, buries his face in his hands, and growls in frustration. He’s a fucking coward, and he knows it. He doesn’t want to see their hurt and disappointment...again. Peeking between his fingers, he scowls at the recording window on his monitor, trying to prepare himself, trying to keep himself together. Lowering his hands, he see his freshly shaven, frowning face. He smiles at his appearance for a second before glaring at his desk lamp, then adjusts it so the light doesn’t accent...things that he doesn’t want accented for this.

He squints back at the monitor and notices that his bed is unmade. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he goes to fix it; then notices some socks he didn’t put away, and the rug is crooked, and, ok, he realizes he’s totally procrastinating, but he is really nervous, and cleaning helps him relax, ok? Walking back to his desk, he finds a stray ration wrapper and frowns.

Suddenly the mess in his room makes sense. “Dammit, Grif.” Fucker probably snuck into his room again to nap. Dammit.

Simmons pulls out a piece of paper and writes a reminder to change his door combination. Fuck, he needs to do a once over and check that certain private things hadn't been tampered with, but...he looks back at the computer screen. Fuck he needs to do this. Get it done with and out of the way.

He pulls back the chair so that he's better framed in the shot. He fiddles with the camera, so it's ever so slightly out of focus hoping that the combination of shitty lighting and blurriness makes it harder for his parents to notice anything wrong. Because nothing is wrong. Everything is normal. Perfectly normal and everything is how it should be. It's-it's...

He takes a deep breath. Several actually. Steadying himself. Reminding his muscles how to put on the fake smile that placates his parents. Slightly parted lips, upturned corners. Keep chin angled slightly down. Crinkle the corners of his eyes (the key seller). He focuses his attention to his face. He thinks it's passable. Not his best, but...fuck it.

He presses the record button.

He swallows. He opens his mouth, but his voice is caught in his throat for a second. Then two...and three and fuck, he's hyperventilating. He stops the recording. Curls in on himself. Grabs at his short hair to the point his knuckles ache and the pulling stings his scalp. Both of his legs bounce in time with his racing heart, one synced to the “tha” and the other, “thump”.

Fuck, he's such a goddamn coward. Can't call his parents face to face and can't even take the shittier route of sending them a stupid recording. This shouldn't be hard. The rational part of his brain knows that, but he knows his parents and knows what's going to happen. And...better to do it now than later. Better to just...fuck, just get this over with. He-he can do this. He can do this and be done and this constant anxiety will simply…

He stills his legs and uncurls, takes a deep breath, and smashes the record button again. His face is red but the fake grin that's plastered across his face sells a little better.

“H-hey Mom and Dad,” he winces at his cracking voice before going back to grinning. “Uh, how are you? It’s been awhile since I’ve sent any video messages. I’ve, um, been kinda busy with Basic. Sooo, uh, I-I hope everythings going ok!” His right leg starts bouncing again, and he fiddles with the fingers of his right hand.

“I got your last message about Dan getting married! That’s, uh, that’s great! I probably can’t make it being, y-you know, um, well, here. And judging by h-his lack of r-responses, I'm assuming he's still pis-ah-mad at me.” Simmons grabs his shaking leg to get it to stop. He wants to talk to Dan again. He wants to go see his younger brother and watch him walk his high school sweetheart down the aisle. However, Dan hasn't forgiven Simmons running off to join the army. Maybe Simmons will send him a video, too. Maybe he'll respond to that...

“But, uh, I, uh, got stationed to a new post! A place called Blood Gulch! As t-to how I’m doing. I’m…” scared, happy, terrified, “... I’m ok. Um, so I. Ffff-uh-fudge.” He buries his face in his hands and his leg starts bouncing again. He wants to stop the recording but...he's gotten this far. He sighs and slides his hands down his face.

“I’ve been...I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately and growing up. And um,” He turns his head to the right, closes his eyes, and feels a prickle in the corners. He licks his dried lips and tries to pull any microscopic scrap of courage he has. “S-so being in the military has given me a lot of time to-to just think. I’ve done a lot of thinking lately. Probably a lot more than I should, but...haha well.” He glances back up at the camera before looking back down. “In case something...something happens. I guess…”

He scratches his head and knows he has to get this out. If something DOES happen, they should know. They shouldn't be surprised about this. “I-I guess I want you to know about...things.”

His mind floods with various moments of his past, swirling around, each one trying to be the main focus. All of his little doubts and thoughts. All of his memories and realizations that lead him to where he is now. He knows that chronological would make the most sense, but he doesn’t think it’s the best way to explain it to them. Fuck he knew he should have written this down before getting started, but, fuck it, he goes with the loudest thought in his mind.

“I don’t think I ever told you guys that I read the repair manual for dad’s old red car. He put it in the hallway bookshelf for some reason, and, uh, when I ran out of other books to read during the summer, I just picked it up and started reading it. Read that thing cover to cover back in...5th grade, I think?” He chuckles at the memory despite his nerves. He remembers keeping the old softcover book hidden under his pillow so his parents wouldn't know. “I didn’t comprehend any of it. No clue what ANY of it meant...but I hoped that dad’s car would break, and...and I could go out and help him fix it with-with what I learned. I never...uh...never got to use it though.” His smirk falters, and he pauses.

His smile turns more into a grimace as he starts tapping his fingers together and looks above the camera as the painful part of the memory comes forward. His voice gets quieter and tighter as he continues. “Dad, uh, Dad told me he would teach me how to replace the starter. You always said you would, but you always ended up doing it when I wasn’t home. The last time I asked about it, you finally snapped at me and said it wasn’t a thing I needed to know. I, uh, I gave up after that. I was still...interested, but I didn't want to make you mad. So….”

He feels the fucking tears trying to come and the lump in his throat grow bigger. He remembers that moment when his father finally snapped at him. The frustrated growl that preceded his biting words. His voice turned more dismissive before finally yelling at Simmons to put the toolbag back in the garage. The way he leaned back in his recliner and turned up the volume on the TV to drown out Simmons’s sniffles as he struggled to carry the toolbag in both of his tiny arms.

He blinks the tears away before continuing. “I really just...I really just wanted to impress you. I figured you didn’t want my help because you knew I would be terrible at it. I-I accepted that and moved on from it. I figured I could try something else and...I mean, I knew I was really good at math, and I thought maybe...maybe that’s how I could do it? To get you to be proud of me.”

“But,” his voice loses its meekness and curdles into more of a sneer as he remembers the fight with his father. “I’ll never forget when I told you I wanted to do mathletes. You laughed. You told me that women’s softball and then basketball of all things would be a good experience for me.” He snorts, and his voice goes back to being more meek. “I hated it. My teammates were...they were ok. Sometimes, I guess? It was fine in the early days, but as time went on it all got...it all-all got worse.”

He winces, thinking back to all of the pranks his teammates liked to pull on him. The name calling. When the main clique started spreading rumors about him trying to date people on the team. When his best friend abandoned him so she wouldn’t be harassed anymore...that hurt worse than the names and ‘pranks’ ever did.

“Mom told me to ignore it, and I-I stuck it out as long as I could. They got worse, but I didn't want to disappoint you guys. I powered through it the best I could in junior high. You guys were so upset when I didn’t make the high school teams, but, go-uh-gosh I was so r-relieved.”

Relief was an understatement. Simmons cried when he saw that his name wasn’t on the list. His parents misinterpreted and thought he was upset because he didn’t make the team. His mom still made him his favorite dessert to try and “cheer” him up while his father complained and said that he didn’t deserve an award for failing. Good thing his dad had a weak spot for mom’s homemade brownies, too.

He feels like the burden he's been carrying most of his life is being lifted from admitting this shit, but he can’t shut it off. The more...revealing memories start flooding to the surface. All the things that he’s been analyzing about himself over the years. But there's one, one really big memory that always stood out looking back. The defining moment when things had to fall apart so he could piece himself back together.

The stubborn tears in the corners of his eyes finally start falling, and, for once, he doesn’t care.

“D-do you remember the time Mom made me...” He swallows and grits his teeth. Nope. He’s gotta keep going. “When she made me put on the wedding dress? Cousin Cindy needed a wedding dress, and you offered yours so it could ‘stay in the family.’ Well, Cindy and I were the same size, so...you guys decided-decided I would be perfect to try it on for her. Heh. You were so pissed because I fought about putting it on. Then Mom kept pushing me to do it since it would be a nice thing for Cindy, and she guilted me about it nonstop. So I finally caved, and it was no surprise that I hated it.”

He was so pissed and upset. His mom had kept mentioning how much money it would cost Cindy to get it tailored, but if Simmons would just put the dress on, she could get her friend here to do it for free. Then she mentioned how upset Cindy would be and her wedding would be ruined. Why was he being so unreasonable? Simmons, dear, it would only be a few minutes. They wouldn’t take pictures or anything, promise. That promise is what made him cave...too bad Simmons had to fix his Mom’s friend’s phone a week later and found the pictures. He went through the message history and found that the pictures had been sent to several people including his mom. He hated that picture. He hated the dress. He hated his mom and her friend for lying to him. He hated the way he looked. He really hated himself.

He has to look away from his face on the monitor. He can’t handle looking at himself as he grits his teeth to get through this because he HAS to do this. “You kept telling me how pretty I was. How beautiful I was, but, uh. I-I never felt...any of those things. Dan making fun of me for doing it felt more believable.” He starts to feel sick and wraps his arms around his torso. “It felt...wrong. Not only the dress, but the compliments, and you guys cooing about me walking down the aisle one day.”

He sneers, and does his shitty impersonation of his dad. “‘Just you wait and see. One day you’ll find a man and settle down. You’ll grow out of this phase.’” Simmons sniffles and starts wiping the tears streaming down his face. He’s biting his lip trying to calm himself, so he can continue, hoping the pain in his lip will distract from the dull ache in his throat. He’s getting to the part he’s dreading: The Point. The whole fucking point of this bullshit. He plasters the fake smile when he looks back at the camera.

“Th-that stayed with me for a long ffff-fudging time: ‘growing out of it’. I thought I was wrong and fuc-messed up. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I felt it for YEARS, and I ignored it as much as I could. I tried. I tried so hard to be normal. I tried liking things that normal people would like. I tried doing the things you expected of me. I tried, but I was always a f-fu-frickin disappointment. I always messed up and liked something I shouldn’t like math and science, programming, sci-fi, Dnd, and Legos.”

His right hand grips tightly at his hair. “At some point I guess you stopped caring. I-I guess because you had Dan. Dan lived up in every way I couldn’t. He had friends, actually liked sports, d-dated, he was what you wanted. You congratulated him on everything he did while you rolled your eyes at me and told me to be better. I needed to do better in sports! Do better grades! Get better friends!” He failed doing all of those. He failed at sports. His grades sucked because he was terrible at testing. His friends consisted solely of his DnD group, and they only kept Simmons around because he was the only one that would play a healing focus character and was a decent strategist. Once he joined the military, he never heard back from them despite the numerous emails he sent.

“By junior year I guess you guys didn’t care because y-you guys just let me do whatever….I think the worst part was I still cared what you guys thought even when I knew you didn’t care anymore….”

“I mean, I dated that one ass,er, asinine jerk and went to prom. I wore that stupid dress and posed for pictures, went to the dance, but it felt more like I was in a costume and putting on a hilariously shi-, um, shoddy play.” He pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes and leans back in his chair. “But everyone kept saying nice things, and I thought that would make things better, but it made it all WORSE. I felt more alienated from everyone because, well, compliments on your appearance is supposed to be a good thing, but it always made me want to disappear. It made my skin crawl every time.” His hands reach back to start tugging at his hair again.

“...For the longest time I held onto that I would ‘grow out of it,’” he whispered. “When the recruitment officer said the military would help me figure out who I really was, I honestly thought he was full of shhh-crap. I thought about the promotions and how proud it would make you. To show you that I could do something. I thought the military was all about action and not stupid tests. Boy, was I wrong, apparently there are tests for becoming an officer. Surprise surprise…but…” He leans forward and rests his forearms on his legs, and looks at the floor. “Those first few weeks of Basic SUCKED, but...but it made me...made me realize that…I-I’m never growing out of it.” He looks straight at the monitor, and stares hard at the recorded image of himself. “That I can never grow out of me because I am me. That I’m not as fucked up as I thought.” He flinches at his uncensored slip, but, his parents are about to have a bigger reason to hate him.

“S-So I guess this is my really weird way of explaining and saying…” He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Not wanting to fuck this up. He’s thought about this for a long time. However he can’t make his eyes meet the camera. He’s picturing his parents there now, managing to avoid thinking like that for this long, but he can’t for this part. They’re there. Silently judging him.

“Mom. Dad. I never came out as the daughter you wanted, but maybe that’s because I was never your daughter to begin with. I was,” he feels his throat tighten, his words release in a rush, “I was actually your son.” He realizes this is the first time he’s said this out loud. He kinda lets the moment settle for himself. “I’m-I’m a guy, and not...not your precious girl. Not your pretty daughter. I’m-I’m your eldest son.”

There. It’s out. He’s said it. There are tears streaming down his face. His voice is cracking all over the place, but he’s said it. It’s the scariest thing he’s done short of being in actual combat.

“I-I know this is probably a shock, but it’s t-the main reason I haven’t sent you videos or video called you back because I’ve been-I’ve been transitioning. T-The medics have been setting me up with safe treatments, and I’ve done all the research. So, there-there shouldn’t be any worries about my health. I know I should have talked to you first. I know, but I needed to do this for me. I needed to make sure that this felt right, and this is the first time in...forever that I’ve felt comfortable in my own skin.”

“I’m sure this is going to take some time to take in, and I’m s-sorry for the secrets and the mysteries. I really didn’t mean to make you so upset Mom. I’ve wanted to send you something more than the emails, but I’ve been scared. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and this is probably the last fucking thing you want or need to deal with, especially with me out here, but I can’t. I can’t keep pretending and lying anymore. I can’t let you keep wondering if anything's wrong, so there it is.” He finally leans forward and adjusts the camera slightly. His bloodshot eyes and red face coming into better focus. He knows it’s still his face, but the angles and shape is probably a lot different than what his parents remember. It’s going to be jarring for them, he knows.

“I still get all my messages and emails forwarded to me, but t-the guys here and the Army know me as R-Richard. I-I found Mom’s old baby name book back in highschool when I was looking for Dnd character names. It was what she had picked if I-I was born, um....B-but, it, uh, it fits pretty well according to one m-member of my squad.” He smirks at that. “Y-you guys would probably strangle him. I fight with him a thousand times worse than Dan. It's honestly amazing that we haven't killed each other yet. Maybe...maybe I'll get a picture of my squad and send it. So you can see who I'm talking about in my...in my emails. Overall they’re, uh, great guys! Sarge is...my Commanding Officer. Lopez is a, well, robot. Grif’s an obnoxious slob, but at least I can have interesting conversations on occasion with him. Donut is...He’s, uh, well...he’s, erm. I’m still trying to figure out my opinion of the Rookie. He just got back a few--”

*WHAM*

Simmons jumps and whips his head towards his door. He hears Sarge’s muffled yells and Grif’s apathetic “Yes, sir.” Grif’s distinctive clunking goes past his door as well as Sarge’s continuous insults. Right. He had things he needed to get done. Important things. Um, maybe doing stock of their supplies or cleaning all of their equipment? Or...anything that wasn’t...what he was currently doing.

“So I th-think I better go. I hope you guys know that I miss you. I hope...I hope to hear from you soon. Send my love and congrats to Dan and his fiancée if...if that's possible. Love and miss you, Mom and Dad. Um, bye.”

Simmons awkwardly waves as he leans in to stop the recording. When the camera is off he rests his head on his desk waiting for his racing heart to slow down. Once he feels like his heart isn’t going to explode out of his chest, he sends the video unedited. He doesn’t think he could handle watching himself go through all of that again. Knows if he opens it up the file to watch, he’ll never send it.

As he watches the loading bar fill and eventually ping to let him know it’s sent, there's a huge relief for a moment. A calm in his head that he hasn’t had in awhile. It’s...kind of nice actually. All of it is out of his hands. He can’t control if his parents will still accept him and love him or...

At that train of thought, the dread and second thoughts start filling his head. He could try and cancel the email before it gets to his parents. Things won’t change and his parents won’t know. It’ll all be...like it’s always been. His mother upset that she doesn’t see her child. His father staring bored while giving an occasional jeer at Simmons’s slip ups. His brother’s silence. It’ll all go back to that. Back to norm-....

He feels his mind trying to go into an anxiety loop. He stops and quickly goes into the routine of getting out of civies and putting on his armor. Armor in place, he goes up to the roof of the base to stare across the canyon. It’s perfect since Grif is on duty, and he’s always an excellent distraction. The fighting and bickering gives his mind a new focus, a new thing to fight against. Even if it’s just to prove his asshole teammate wrong. He smiles as he makes his way to the roof.

He finds Grif leaning against one of the walls staring out across the canyon.

“What the fuck are you doing up here, Simmons?” Grif pushes himself off the wall. “Why aren’t you in the base enjoying the AC?”

“And leave you up here alone, asshole?” Simmons snipes back. “Might as well hand the Blues the keys to the base. You were, what, ten minutes away from taking a nap?”

“You wound me.” He clutches his hands over his heart in mock pain, rifle balanced in the crook of his elbow. “Look, give me some credit. It was more like five.”

Simmons snorts and shakes his head. There’s a few minutes of silence as they both look out to the center of the canyon, occasionally seeing flashes of blue at the other base.

“Ok, seriously, why the fuck are you up here? Don’t you have some Star Trek novels to read or cards to organize or something?”

Simmons turns his head towards Grif. He could almost swear that...does Grif sound concerned?

“I just...I needed to clear my head.” Grif turns his head exasperated, and Simmons watches as Grif’s chest expands, preparing to berate him. He looks back out across the canyon trying to avoid confrontation. He doesn’t think he could handle serious bickering. “Um, just g-got mail from family and, yeah, a lot to take in, but pretty minor stuff. It’s fine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Grif tilt his head. “Ok? And? If it was something minor you would be counting something, not coming up here to--”

This was not going according to plan. “Can we please talk about something else?” he mumbles, his foot tapping and hands flexing around his rifle.

Grif stands still and looks at Simmons. Simmons could tell that Grif was analyzing him...or maybe Grif was debating something...or...fuck, it was hard to tell with these stupid fucking helmets on. Either way, Grif was supposed to NOT care, and they were supposed to talk or argue about something stupid, things that didn’t matter. Grif wasn’t supposed to cause him MORE stress. That was the point of coming up here! Grif should know the routine by--

“Shark vs Bear.” Grif straightens and focuses on the door that lead inside the base. “Who would win?”

Simmons’s brain halts. “What?”

Grif turns his head to focus back on Simmons. “If you put a shark and a bear together and had them fight who would win?”

Simmons stares incredulously at him for a minute before slowly asking, “Are they fighting on land or in water?”

“Oh, uhh, land?”

“Well, the bear would clearly win since a shark can’t breathe air and, it doesn’t have limbs, dumbass.” Simmons snickers. Grif makes a motion that reminds him of someone rolling their eyes.

“Ok, smartass. Shark’s got human limbs and can breathe air.”

“Well, now you’re giving the shark a potentially unfair advantage.”

“How?!”

Simmons starts spouting off random advantages human limbs would give such as the ability to use tools. Grif thinks it’s dumb and gaining limbs doesn’t mean a sudden understanding of how tools work. Simmons argues that tool usage would come with the shark learning how to use its limbs. They both argue and yell about the complexities of how human limbs would even be positioned on a shark, then how would said shark fight against various animals. A few hours later, their argument gets interrupted by Sarge hollering at them to shut up and get their damn rations.

As they walk down, Grif points a finger at Simmons. “This isn’t over. I still don’t think a gorilla would pose much of a threat.”

Simmons snorts, “Whatever, you’re just thinking about the ‘coolness’ factor and not the actual science behind it.”

Grif tugs his helmet off once they’re in the base. As soon as his head is free, he rolls his eyes and smirks at Simmons. “You are such a goddamn nerd.” Grif continues walking while Simmons pulls off his own helmet and grins after his teammate.

As shitty as being in this war is, at least here, for once in his life, Simmons is comfortable being himself.

END NOTES

I might continue this at some point. I have two more chapters that I would like to write up that involve Simmons "planning for the worst" and then a heart to heart with Grif about their pasts. I'm participating in the RvB Big Bang, so that's going to eat up a lot of my time. I'm going to be working on the main story for my "Last Responders AU", so be on the look out for that!

If there's anything problematic or if there's some tags I should add, please let me know. I'm kinda new to...well all of this? Also I would not mind some critique messaged my way either! Feel free to message me on here (piratesimmons or piratelynlyn) or on Ao3! Also feel free to yell at me about Grimmons and other stuff!!!

Ok so there's a few more things. This...got a lot more personal than I initially intended, so this next bit is kinda personal-ish...

I know people are kind of tired of the "coming out" trope, but as a person that ISN'T out to their parents yet and had a terrifying conversation with their mom recently...I really needed to get this out of my head and off my chest. The conversation that he's recording is similar to the "rehearsed speech" I have in my head for when I eventually do come out to my parents...only it will probably be a thousand times more rambly. Some of the things he's talked about are things I've experienced or they're random things I've HC for him, so there's that, too.

The title of the fic is based off what my parents and SEVERAL other relatives have told me in the past while going through my "Tomboy stage" that I never grew out of. Like Simmons, I held onto the "growing out of it" line for years, hoping it would just click one day. I've read a lot of stories (of the irl personal and fic variety) and talked to a few people about being trans, and it's really helped make it easier-ish to accept who I am over the past year. It's still a process, and some days are bad, others are good. Hearing and reading this stuff makes me realize "that I’m not as fucked up as I thought." That I'm not alone in this. I have friends that care and a community that I can relate to and talk with, and, jeez, that's helped so much.

So hopefully this helps someone else out. Know that you're fine and you're you and you're normal and valid and amazing.

Thanks for reading all of this! I love you guys!

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