Roses Are Red

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Someday we'll cruise down Blood Gulch Avenue

Episode 1: The Blue Red

Lately Grif had been noticing a disturbing pattern. The conversations he had with Simmons while they stood outside and pretended to guard the base were pretty much the same as ever...except that the topic of suicide kept creeping in.

"I don't see why we have to stand out here and look tough when we know they aren't going to attack us," Grif said. "This thing between us is pretty much over. I mean, Donut and Caboose are friends now for Christ's sake. You'd think we could call a truce."

"Yeah," Simmons said gloomily.

"They sneak over to each other's rooms and have sleepovers anyway," Grif said.

"Yeah."

"Must be nice to view the war through their eyes," Grif said.

"Yeah."

Grif glanced at him. "You okay?"

"I'll assume based on our previous conversations that is a rhetorical question," Simmons said.

"Not if I understand what a rhetorical question is," Grif said. "That's the kind of question that nobody answers, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I want an answer," Grif said. "Are you alright?"

"No." Simmons hung his head.

"Okay...why are you not alright?"

"Why do you care?" Simmons asked.

"Well, I don't," Grif said automatically. He couldn't start talking about feelings and caring if he wanted to keep Simmons from finding out how he felt. Namely, that he'd had a crush on Simmons ever since they first wound up in a box canyon with nothing to do all day. "But I asked, so I want an answer."

"All I want is someone to care," Simmons said. A spark of anger seemed to go off. He straightened. "But no. You're all assholes. I could die, and the most Sarge would say is, 'Why'd he have to mess up my perfect score?'"

"I keep telling you, that is the worst impression I've ever heard."

Simmons just took a deep breath and kept on going. "Nobody likes me anyway. I may as well kill myself. It can't be teamkilling if I kill myself, can it? That doesn't count. If I kill myself then it doesn't tarnish our record. So far the Red Team doesn't have any teamkills. That means we're winning."

"If we're winning, why are you going to kill yourself?" Grif asked.

Simmons stiffened. "Don't you listen to anything I say?"

"Nope," Grif said, unable to resist.

"Fucking – you just – ahh – grr. I knew it. I knew it was useless to talk to you."

"You're not going to kill yourself anyway," Grif said reasonably. "You don't have a plan."

"I'll make one!" Simmons yelled, his voice cracking. He ran.

Grif snorted. "Yeah, whatever, Simmons."

All the same, he had an uneasy feeling that something was different. The feeling that maybe falling back on 'Yeah, whatever, Simmons,' wasn't the right answer. "How can that not be the right answer?" Grif asked himself. "That always works. That's my go-to."

Behind him, Lopez said something in monotone Spanish.

Grif ignored him.

xXx

Three weeks later the conversation circled back around to the same place.

Grif had been waiting in their typical guard position for four hours. "I wonder where Simmons is."

Lopez asked him something.

Grif sighed. "Look. I can't understand you."

Typically, Lopez just spoke a totally different thing.

Grif shook his head. "I still don't -"

Simmons ran up, seeming to appear out of nowhere. "I have a plan. Now you can't say I won't kill myself, because I am!"

"Where have you been?" Grif demanded. "You know I hate standing out here by myself."

"I was finishing my suicide note," Simmons said defensively. "I needed the room to myself. So I waited until you were out here, and then I went in there, and I -" He turned and glared at Lopez. "Will you give me a minute?"

Lopez said something and walked away.

Simmons turned to Grif with wounded dignity. "As I was saying, I finished my suicide note. You have to promise to burn it after you read it. I don't want Sarge looking at it. He's not supposed to know that I killed myself. I want him to still respect me after I die."

"I am way too used to you temporarily freaking out and then calming down again to believe you," Grif said. "I think writing that suicide note got it all out of your system, and now you're just looking for attention."

That stopped Simmons cold. Momentarily. Then he protested, "I do have a plan. I've thought about it for weeks and it's perfect. All I need is to speak to Lopez and I'm done."

"Alright, let's hear this perfect plan," Grif said resignedly. "Apparently I can't shut you up by pointing out how stupid this is, so I might as well ask for what I'm going to hear anyway."

Simmons let out a long sigh and hung his head. "I'm going to take off my armor and ask Lopez to run me over with the jeep. He'll do it. He hates me. It'll look like a terrible accident. That way Sarge -" His voice hitched. He started over. "That way Sarge doesn't have to know. Suicide is a sin. Sarge is a very religious man. He probably wouldn't even bury me if he knew."

Grif stared at him. "That's pretty dark."

"Life is dark." Simmons nodded to himself and squared his shoulders. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go change into my jammies. When Lopez runs me over I want to be comfortable."

Not knowing what else to do, and choking down laughter at that bizarre image, Grif desperately stuttered, "Yeah, whatever, Simmons."

"Hmph." Simmons dropped his gun and marched off.

Grif turned and watched Simmons enter the base. "He can't be serious." Even so, he watched the base and waited for Simmons to come out.

Sure, his back was to the Blues, but he didn't really think they'd attack. They might steal the flag again. But they wouldn't try to kill anyone. With Washington leading the unit they didn't need to. Half the time the Red team didn't even see it happen. They'd just get a call on their radios that their flag had been ransomed.

Just when Grif's attention span wandered, Simmons came back out. Grif immediately snapped back to the present. "What the..."

Simmons was out of his armor and wearing pajamas. Blue pajamas. Grif knew those pajamas; those were the ones with green and red dinosaurs on them. The first time he saw his teammate in them and tried to make fun of a grown man wearing dinosaur pajamas, Simmons had condescendingly corrected, "They're stegosaurs and tyrannosaurus rexes, dumbass."

Grif shook his head in disbelief. Then he saw movement in the corner of his eye and snapped around. "Oh, no."

Lopez was driving back from patrol in the jeep, headed straight towards the base. Simmons saw Lopez coming and didn't alter his course.

Grif ran. "Simmons! Simmons, wait!"

"You'll be sorry," Simmons said with a familiar misanthropic glee. "You'll all be sorry."

Grif skidded in front of him and blocked his path. "Stop!"

"What do you care?" Simmons stared for a moment. When that didn't produce results, he made as if to go around.

Grif grabbed his arm before he could turn away. "Because I like you. And I don't like people I like killing themselves. You don't fool around with suicide. I was stupid to let this go on for as long as it did."

Simmons almost fell over. "But – But how can you like me? You're always ignoring me."

"How can I ignore you?" Grif snorted. "You never shut up."

"But I – You call me a kissass!"

"That's because you are," Grif said.

Simmons stewed in silence for a moment. Then he said, his voice heightening with insecurity, "You're putting me on. This is a joke. You're making fun of me. Well, stop it, Grif. It's not funny."

Grif heaved a sigh. "I'm not making fun of you, dumbass. I'm trying to tell you that I like you."

"Really?" Simmons' voice was painfully hopeful.

"Yes," Grif said.

"You like me? You mean you're not just putting up with me because we're stuck at the same outpost and we're on the same team and we share a room together? You really like me?" Simmons spoke almost too quickly to understand.

"Yeah," Grif said with a grin in his voice.

Simmons was totally off his game now. He stammered, "Well, I – I'm sorry I said I never respected you, and...stuff."

"That's okay," Grif said. "I never respected you either. I just like you."

Simmons let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "This is the best day of my life. Somebody finally likes me."

Grif patted his shoulder. "I liked you the whole time. If I didn't, I wouldn't let you find me when I go someplace to take a nap. I make it easy on you."

"What is this, a pajama party?" a familiar, grating voice interjected.

Grif and Simmons turned.

Sarge stood twelve feet away waiting for the jeep.

Lopez pulled up and stopped. He gave Simmons a featureless stare and said something.

"You sound suspiciously disappointed for a guy who can't change his voice to reflect his feelings," Grif said.

Lopez said something else.

"I said, why are you in your pajamas?" Sarge asked. He stared at Simmons with his usual level of confusion and obliviousness to everything around him.

Grif started angrily, "Because he -"

"Got heat stroke and decided to go to bed," Simmons interrupted in a thin voice.

"Oh. Should I get Doc?" Sarge asked.

"You mean you actually care?" Simmons asked quickly.

"Of course I care! If you die, you'll mess up my record." Sarge puffed out his chest. "No deaths under my command. That's a streak I wanna keep going."

"Don't bother," Simmons said, hanging his head. "Doc can't practice medicine anyway. He'd probably just kill me by accident and spoil your record, sir."

"Good thinking! I should ask Doc to take a look at Grif. " Sarge hopped in the jeep. "Anyway, adios, boys! It's my turn to patrol. Heh heh." He drove away.

Lopez trudged off.

Simmons' expression hardened. "I don't want him to care about me anymore anyway. The stupid bastard."

"That's a lie, isn't it?" Grif asked.

Simmons pouted. "No."

Grif waited.

Simmons sighed and hung his head again. "Yeah. I don't think I'll ever stop wanting him to approve of me."

Grif smiled and placed his hand on Simmons' shoulder. "Good. Because it would be too weird for me if you changed your mind now. I wouldn't know what to think."

"Do you really like me?" Simmons asked.

"Yeah." Grif squeezed his shoulder. "I really do."

"Okay. Then I guess I won't kill myself yet. I guess I'll – I guess I'll go put my armor back on." Simmons made it sound like the last thing he wanted to do.

Grif grinned at him. "Careful. You're beginning to sound like me. I won't stand for two Dexter Grifs around here. I've got the job market cornered."

Simmons managed a smile and a little bit of hustle as he walked back inside the base. When Simmons came out wearing that familiar maroon armor, Grif was more relieved than he could say. They walked back to their posts and stood side by side, like they always ought to. Only now Grif knew his sense of serenity was way more fragile than he thought.