The dust was still clearing when Simmons opened his eyes It took a few moments for his brain to catch up with his new surroundings. His cyborg eye automatically adjusted to account for the darkness. A few metres away, a large pile of rocks was clogging the entrance to the cave he was in. He could feel exactly where his head had been hit, and briefly wondered what he'd been doing beforehand to call for removing his helmet, which was nowhere in sight.
His body feeling sluggish, Simmons struggled to sit up. "Grif?" he called towards the only other person in the cave, whose orange armour was standing out against the grey of the cave walls. There was no response. "Hey, fat-ass. Wake up."
Still nothing.
With what felt like an incredible amount of effort, Simmons managed to crawl his way over to Grif. Relief flooded through him as he determined that he was at least breathing, the snores giving it away almost instantly. But for whatever reason, his head was sans-helmet too. "Now is not the time to be napping," he snapped, tapping his face several times. "C'mon, Grif," he insisted, his tone growing more urgent. "I'm not carrying you out of here," he added. He had no way of knowing whether help was coming – did anyone even know that they were down in the cave? With the cave entrance blocked, was there even another way of getting out?
Carefully, Simmons used his fingers to poke around Grif's head and soon found a large bump. He winced. "Must've been one hell of a knock," he commented, biting his lip. "Come on, asshole, wake up," he pleaded, to no avail. Grif's face remained lax and unresponsive.
Simmons struggled to push down the rising panic. He took several deep breaths and tried to remember exactly why they were in this cave to begin with. After all, Grif hated bats, and this place had to be rife with them. The dull headache was doing nothing to help him recall the moments leading up to the cave collapsing and he groaned in frustration, before reaching to pat Grif's cheek again.
The last thing he could recall was asking Grif whether they could talk in private, to try and get over the awkwardness that had surrounded them ever since the Temple of Procreation incident. "You stupid ass," Simmons huffed out, dropping onto his bottom and leaning back against the cave wall. "God, this isn't even the only private place we could've came," he said, scanning Grif's face for even a flicker of consciousness. There was none. Simmons worried at his lip, feeling his stomach curl into a knot.
As time ticked by, Simmons found himself growing more unnerved by Grif's stillness. He wasn't sure what compelled him to do it, but he ended up shifting Grif's upper body into his lap. "So I can keep a closer eye on you," he explained to Grif as he did so, even though the other man didn't react at all. It felt as if he was trying to justify the decision to himself, not Grif.
With nothing else to do, Simmons found himself studying Grif's face as he tried to recall why they were in the cave again. "The Temple of Procreation thing doesn't bother me," he found himself telling Grif. The knot in his stomach continued to tighten. "I loved you before that," he blurted before he lost his nerve. "That's what I wanted to tell you, and maybe I already have, but if I can't remember it then you sure as hell probably can't -" he rambled before cutting himself off abruptly. "Please wake up, Grif," he begged, but his plea went unanswered.
At some point, Simmons had let his cyborg eye switch off, what with it having little to actually look at. As soon as Grif let out a groan, however, he turned it back on and stared down at him as he began to wake.
Grif's eyes opened just a crack and then he winced, slamming his eyes shut again as the light of Simmons' cyborg eye irritated the pounding in his head further. "Are you watching me sleep?" he asked, his words slurred together.
"No, I was making sure you didn't stop breathing on me," Simmons told him, rolling his eyes.
"S'dark in here," Grif mumbled, blinking his eyes open again. Aside from the small amount of sunlight peeking into the cave, Simmons' eye was the only thing he could see. "What happened?" he asked. "You okay?"
"The cave entranced collapsed. I'm fine. You're the one who's been unconscious forever," Simmons said, shaking his head. Grif didn't bother trying to follow the light of his eye.
"Mm. Oops."
"Simmons? Grif?" a voice barked from outside and Grif groaned as he recognised it as Sarge's.
"We're in here, sir!" Simmons shouted, pushing his voice to be as loud as possible. "The cave collapsed!"
"Did Grif survive?" Sarge asked through the rubble, his voice hopeful.
"Yes, sir," Simmons called back. The noise of disappointment that Sarge made caused Simmons' mechanical heart to twinge.
"M'gonna go back to sleep now, Simmons," Grif mumbled.
"Grif, no, don't, they won't take long to get us out -" Simmons tried to protest, but within seconds, Grif was snoring again. He sighed as the rocks of the cave-in began to shift, then moved himself and Grif a little further away as dust began to fall again.
The blockage didn't take long to remove, and soon enough, the two of them were free. It wasn't until afterwards that Grif woke up again, and when he did, he immediately bitched about how hungry he was.
Over the next few days, Simmons fully intended to speak with Grif about what had happened in the cave. There was just no time. Between Sarge waging a new battle with gravity and the arguments over band names, both Simmons and Grif ended up having no opportunity to talk.
The awkwardness that had lingered between them had disappeared, at the very least. Simmons thought that they were fine.
Then the reporter showed up. Everything went to hell.
It felt as if Grif was looking at him with betrayal. "Quit what?" Simmons asked, confused.
"You," Grif answered simply. The explanation continued beyond that, but the word had already stung Simmons. He could do little more than blink until Grif looked at him again after saying, "I don't like you. Any of you."
If it was Grif's intention to hurt him, it worked. Simmons frowned as Grif turned and began walking away from them – from him.
As he stared at Grif's retreating form, he couldn't help but wonder if anything would have been different if he'd told Grif he loved him while he was awake.