A/N: I do not own Red vs. Blue

So Hound_Unit prompted me "Could you be happy, here, with me?" and "If you kill them, you'd better kill me too, because otherwise I'm going to kill you." Yeah, I couldn't make either Grif or Simmons badass enough to use the second quote so I went with number 1. Here's the result.

So yeah, it's set at the end of season 12.

Bottle Half Full

Alcohol was normally forbidden among the Rebels. A civil war usually caused some tension and after a certain number of assassinations and backstabbing, people learned it was best to stay wary at all times.

But when the Reds and Blues were reunited it was certainly a reason to celebrate.

To be fair, drinking alcohol was not the first thing they did. First Tucker had to be released from the hospital and the tension between the Feds and the Rebels had to die out. Still, when the Reds and Blues finally gathered, some of the bottles had already been opened. It had not been easy for the citizens of Chorus to find out the truth.

While some had tried to drown their sorrows, some had been celebrating the fact that their heroes were still alive, and the Reds and Blue kept up the joyful mood as they shared stories of what had happened while they had been separated and discussed what the fuck to do now.

The serious conversation did not last long, however, since Tucker was quick to let the alcohol get to his head, resulting in him leaning heavily against Wash. The Freelancer let him rest there, resulting in some comments from Carolina that he then weakly tried to defend himself against.

Even Donut had become tipsy and had begun a very friendly conversation with Caboose. Now when Church was back Sarge had seen his chance to try out all his Blue-centered jokes, and after some hours the AI had given up trying to make him shut up and was now sulking on Carolina's shoulder.

Then Sarge had turned his stare upon Grif since he was fully convinced Grif has saved up weeks' worth of insults during the time they had been split up. No one raised an eyebrow at that. A day without Sarge shouting or mocking Grif would be considered abnormal.

Simmons was not even sure what the insult had been about; he had not been listening closely but had instead focused on where his bottle had gone (later he would realize Grif had decided to empty it for him – without asking, of course.). But his mind became fully conscious about the conversation when Grif suddenly sprung from the couch, legs wobbling, and talked back at Sarge, words slurring, "You sh-shut up, yeah, 'cause you don't even…" He trailed off, apparently forgetting what he was about to say, and his eyes narrowed when he settled with an insult instead, "… you fucking-"

He never finished since Simmons did not let him. The Hawaiian was flailing his arms at Sarge when the cyborg grabbed him by the shoulder and began to drag him away from the scene. If Sarge found out whatever he fucking was, chances were he would lose his temper and decide to use his shotgun at Grif which wasn't the best idea now when none of them were wearing armor and they all had clouded minds.

Simmons had not realized Grif had become this drunk. He had been rather quiet the entire evening, meaning he must have been drinking silently without anyone noticing when he'd reached the limit, and judging by the number of empty bottles on the table where Grif and Simmons had been sitting, the limit had been crossed a while ago. Simmons was very sure he had only emptied two of the bottles, which left Grif to be responsible for the rest.

"Alright," Simmons said, wrapping an arm around his friend to keep him upright. "Time for bed."

"No." Grif was still scowling, trying to turn his head to glare at Sarge but Simmons would not let him. He kept walking forward but the drunken Hawaiian kept struggling, though his state of mind made the attempts weak, especially with Simmons' cyborg limbs keeping him in place.

"C'mon, Grif," Simmons muttered through gritted teeth, trying to get as far away as possible since he could feel their friend's stares burning their backs. Hopefully Sarge would have forgotten about this tomorrow. "You like to nap. Remember?"

Apparently Simmons' words sparked his memory and he widened his eyes in wonder. "Huh. Okay." He then stopped struggling all together, resulting in him leaning heavily against Simmons.

The cyborg struggled under the weight. While he was not as intoxicated as Grif, nowhere near it actually, he could feel the alcohol's grip on him: his cheeks seemed strangely warm and he did not feel as panicked as he should given the situation. But he was having trouble walking straight, though this was mostly caused by his teammate almost dragging him to the floor.

"Fuck, you're heavy," he complained as they actually managed to steer through the second hallway. Two more left before they would reach their shared quarters.

"F-fuck you, too," Grif slurred back. He then shifted to lean his head against Simmons' shoulder.

The cyborg stumbled twice before trying to rest them both against the wall in order to get a better footing. His legs, however, turned out to be too wobbly and they both slid down to sit on the floor. "Fuck," Simmons said and decided to take a small break before trying to stand up again. He had earned the rest.

Grif said nothing but instead crossed his arms. He was still scowling. Sitting like this with his legs sprawled out in front of him made him look like a pouting child. But the rare times Grif got this drunk, this weird childish honesty would creep into his facial features. Maybe the alcohol made his emotions stronger or maybe it just kept him from keeping up his usual bored expression. No matter what, Simmons had come to realize that a drunken Grif was easier to read.

"Okay, what?" he asked when his friend continued to stare daggers at the opposite wall. "Why are you sulking?"

"M'not."

"Sure," Simmons said with a snort. "I mean, starting a fist-fight with Sarge is a great idea. You're lucky I dragged your sorry ass out when I did."

Grif looked like he was going to shout at him but the only thing that left his mouth was this offended "Meh." Simmons could handle that.

The thought of dragging Grif up from the floor when they were both unstable as fuck wasn't appealing so Simmons stayed where he was. "You finally got the alcohol you've been whining about for weeks – you have no fucking reason to be gloomy."

Grif still had this pouting look on his face, biting his lower lip while his eyes remained glazed with stubbornness. When he finally opened his mouth, he said, "It's stupid."

"Yeah, it is," Simmons agreed immediately. "You're bitching for no reason. We were all being fun."

The Hawaiian nodded and it seemed like it caused him trouble to raise his head again. "Yes. Exactly. You were stupid."

"So now having fun is stupid?" Simmons concluded, dumbfounded. "Can I quote you saying that the next time you want to have a Oreo-eating contest 'cause you think it's fun and good for morale?"

"Stupid," Grif said one final time, somewhat firmly despite the slurring voice.

And because Simmons had actually been enjoying himself this evening, he began to argue, "No, it's not! We had all the reason to celebrate! We didn't die. And we're finally back together."

"No."

Simmons tilted his head to glare at him. His cheeks felt very warm again. "What are you on about? Yes, we are. Look." He held up his fingers to count. "You, me, Donut, Sarge, Lopez, Caboose, Tucker, Wash, Church, Carolina. You see, everyone."

"No," Grif said again. "Wrong."

"Yeah?"

Apparently the drunken Hawaiian mistook the questioning yeah for an affirmative yeah.

Grif tried to nod but ended up losing his balance. He was leaning heavily against Simmons again, head resting on his shoulder, his face so close that the cyborg could feel his breath against those parts of his neck that still had skin. Simmons could hear his own heart beat faster. Then Grif began to talk and Simmons felt his heart drop to his stomach. "We still need to pick up Kai."

The weird drunken honesty was still affecting him, and first now Simmons noticed the depressed look in his eyes. Fuck. As in seriously, fuck. Simmons would not call himself capable of comforting a strange, drunk, out-of-character, depressed Grif, and he definitely was not able to now when his light-weight brain was refusing to work properly.

After some seconds Simmons managed to say something. "Yeah." The word was thin and his mouth felt dry but he had no idea of what else to say, so he just repeated himself, "Yeah."

Grif let out a deep breath. "See? Fucking bullshit. Not a reunion."

Simmons hoped no one would use this hallway for a while. It would be a weird sight for any of their Lieutenants if they walked by. It was not every day you would find Grif and Simmons sprawled out on the floor. Not that it had never happened before, but it was not a common occurrence. And he knew the Lieutenants would love to come by and take a picture of Grif leaning against Simmons in this manner – whether the picture was going to be blackmail or for the scrapbook depended on which color the Lieutenant would be.

"We're- we're gonna have to talk with Kimball 'bout getting a ship. Fucking owe us, yeah."

Simmons bit his lip. He swallowed before saying, "But… But we have to take care of Locus first. And Felix, now. They shoot down the ships trying to leave, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Gotta hurry up killing those fuckers, then. It's been…" Grif trailed off, staring at the wall again. His eyes looked really sad now, like he was going to fucking cry, and Simmons did not know how to deal with that. Drunken Grif's emotion-display was freaking him out already. If Grif shed a tear Simmons would probably start sobbing in panic.

Grif breathed out before continuing, "s'been long. She's gonna be so fucking pissed when we get there. Just for being late and she fucking knows… She's like that. Pissed off. Probably. For ditching her."

Simmons' gut twisted when he remembered Lopez' words. While he wished he could share Grif's optimism, his logical brain was telling him that Kai was dead, rotting inside her armor back in Blood Gulch and, fuck, that was a terrible image.

But he could not tell Grif that, not when he already looked so close to crying. Simmons could even feel his own eyes tear up. He could not find the strength to lie to him either, so for some reason he said, "It… might take a while. Before we're done here. I think."

Grif huffed and then his head lolled over so his forehead was resting against Simmons' collarbone. "Sucks."

"Yeah."

And then Grif muttered into Simmons' skin, "Wanna go home."

There was a lump in Simmons' throat that he just could not swallow. By instinct he draped an arm around his drunken friend. It was not like Grif had ever tried tohide his desire about going home: since the first day Simmons had met him he'd been complaining about being a draftee and not belonging in the army in the first place. But drunken Grif had made this complaint heart-wrenching and Simmons had no idea of what to do.

"I'm gonna take you with us," Grif promised with a mutter. "Get a fucking tan. You know 'ow to surf?"

"No," Simmons said and left out the fact that he probably shouldn't be in the water at all, due to his metallic limbs. He'd rather not drown.

"Gonna teach you. There's, where we lived, a beach. With waves."

"Okay, Grif," Simmons replied while his mind came to the conclusion that the chances of them ever getting back to Earth were small. First they had to survive this mess and, well, another mess would probably find them after that. And even if they were free to do whatever they want after freeing Chorus, then Grif would head to Blood Gulch first. To be honest Simmons would rather not be there when Grif was forced to give up his hopes about Kai. Or, well, Simmons would be there, to comfort, but just imagining that scene made his throat close up.

It must be the alcohol softening him but Simmons could feel a single tear fall from his human eye. Grif had been right: they never should have drunk in the first place. Panicked by the thought of losing it completely, Simmons began to rub comforting circles – on Grif's back. If his friend kept calm then Simmons would probably be calm, too.

Clearing his throat, he decided to slowly guide Grif into the idea that things were probably not going his way. Devastated Grif was not a sight that Simmons wanted to see. "I, uhm… They must have water around here too. With a beach. Or just a lake. Can you surf on a lake? With water and all." Realizing he was rambling, he said, "I know it's not what exactly you want but…" Simmons had forgotten what he wanted to follow that sentence up with, so he chose a random phrase instead, even messing it up with his slightly intoxicated brain, "…you have to see the bottle half full, right?"

"My bottle's empty," Grif wailed, and Simmons thought of all the empty bottles he had left behind and he nodded gravely.

He took in another breath before finding the courage to ask, "I mean, could you be happy, here, with me?"

Grif raised his head a bit to stare at him. There was dried spit on his chin and Simmons realized he had probably been drooling on him. Not wanting to ruin to moment, he held back a complaint.

Finally, Grif spoke. "Yeah." He blinked slowly. "Sure." And since drunken Grif could not keep a poker-face, Simmons could look into his eyes and see that little glint of happiness that revealed he'd been telling the truth.

Simmons breathed in deeply and Grif rested his head against his neck again. There sat there for a while, mainly because Grif was half-asleep and Simmons was still too stunned to move.

Logical awareness slowly crept its way back into Simmons' mind and when Grif suddenly shifted he could not help but plead, "Please don't puke on me."

"Okay." Grif's mouth pressed against Simmons' neck for a moment before adding, "Only 'cause it's you."

The cyborg blinked, his vison slowly clearing. "Yeah, I love you too."

The Hawaiian's head grew more and more heavy against Simmons' chest until the cyborg decided not to let anyone find them like this. Slipping an arm under his armpit, he began to hoist him up. "It's still bed time."

Grif never replied to that, chin resting against his chest while his feet barely managed to work. Somehow Simmons got them to their room and opened the door without dropping Grif by accident. He did, however, let Grif fall when they reached their bed.

His face met with the pillow and he did not as much as grunt. Simmons considered leaving him there, since Grif was obviously already asleep, if the low snores were any hint. But after a moment of consideration he gently turned over Grif's head so he wouldn't strangle himself by accident. His hand brushed away some stray hair from his forehead as he did so. He then lifted up his legs so they too were lying on the bed. If Grif had slept in a strained position his back would hurt tomorrow and he would bitch about it, so by tucking in his friend Simmons was in fact taking care of himself. In some way.

After having covered Grif's body with the orange blanket, despite the fact that the Hawaiian was already fully dressed, Simmons stepped away to prepare himself to go to bed.

When he was settled under a blanket as well, he could turn his head to watch Grif sleep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern.

Chances were Grif would not remember this conversation when he woke up the next morning with a massive hangover.

And Simmons fell asleep wondering if that was a good thing.

A/N: I did my best, and I hope you liked it, Hound! And please notice how I didn't kill anyone XD I'm so nice!

I have never been drunk before so this is inspired by how some of my friends get weirdly sentimental when they drink enough. I hope it didn't seem too off.

This was fairly fun to write. All in one day. I'm very proud of myself – I really like prompts.

This prompt came from a prompt post on tumblr, but I'm always open for any kind of prompts if any of you have an idea for a scene. I'm riathedreamer on tumblr, more info on my profile on AO3.

Thanks for reading!