Okay, so I love Red vs. Blue, and have been wanting to contribute to the fanfiction community for a long time. It seems that it's a good time, since there really aren't that many fanfics on this site, even when considering how popular it is.

Anyway, this takes place after season 15, episode 8. It's basically how I envision Grif and Simmons's reunion if Simmons actually takes the initiative to go back for him. I'm honestly convinced at this point that Grimmons will become canon. They are seriously building up to it, and I can't wait. Please don't be queerbaiting. Please don't be queerbaiting…

Anyway, enjoy!

Simmons hated how much he shook as he got off his ship and stepped onto the familiar moon once again. He looked around. Everything looked just about the same, from the ruined waterpark to the two bases. For a moment, he closed his eyes, imagining that they were all there, just goofing off and having a good time. In that moment, he fully understood why Grif had refused to leave.

He also wondered if coming back was really such a good idea.

"I don't like you. Any of you." Those ugly words echoed in Simmons's head, making him wince. Still, there was no turning back. Taking a deep breath, he walked toward what used to be this place's Red Base.

He had met with surprisingly little resistance when he voiced his decision to go back for Grif. Most of the protests had come from the weird, knockoff clones, who were convinced that they all had to stay underground while they figured out what to do next.

"He's probably dead already," Temple had insisted. "We need to focus on targeting the UNSC and protecting ourselves!"

Tucker had also not been thrilled. "Dude, you're seriously gonna ditch too? Nice to know we've got such a loyal fucking group!"

Simmons wasn't particularly close to Tucker, so he was able to easily push aside his guilt. What he hadn't been prepared for was Sarge, who had let him go after a minor token rant about desertion and insubordination. In a defeated voice, he had muttered: "Do what you gotta do, son."

A few years ago, being called "son" by Sarge would have evoked the deepest sense of happiness imaginable. Now, it just filled Simmons with sadness and regret. He asked Donut and Lopez to take care of their leader while he was gone.

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, Caboose had been the most understanding out of anyone. "It is okay," he had said cheerfully. "You need to help Grif. He is your friend." When Tucker had spoken out against it, Caboose said simply: "We can still rescue Church, but I think that Grif needs Simmons more than Church needs Simmons. Simmons will bring Grif back, and we will find Church, and everyone will be happy!"

"Caboose, I don't know if we'll be coming back," Simmons had said. "Grif might not want to, and…I'm not going to leave him." He knew this was true. He couldn't leave without Grif. Not again. These past few days had more than proven that.

Caboose had been unconcerned. "Pfft! Of course you will come back! We are friends! Friends always come back!"

Simmons hadn't had the heart to argue with him.

Now, he stood in the doorway of the Red Base. Empty food containers littered the ground, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of course it's a fucking pig sty. Jesus, I'm gonna need to do some serious cleaning here.

It was while he was wondering just how big of a dumpster he would need to build that Grif decided to enter the room from the attached kitchen. He froze, his stance the only thing hinting at the utter shock that dominated his mind in that moment. Of course, he recovered quickly and asked: "What the hell are you doing here?"

Simmons winced at the hostility in his tone. "I, uh…"

"What, did your little quest to find a dead man fail? Well, tough shit! This base is mine now! You guys can all hang out at Blue Base!"

"It's just me," Simmons mumbled.

"What?"

"It's just me," he said, just a little louder. "I'm the only one here."

At this, Grif faltered. "Are they dead?"

"No."

Grif hated how relieved he was to hear that. "Well, that's a surprise. I figured at least Donut would've gotten himself killed at this point."

"Oh, would you stop for just two seconds?" Simmons snapped, strangely emboldened by Grif's familiar, dickish attitude. "The UNSC is targeting everyone involved with Project Freelancer, sim troopers included. We met another group that's been dealing with repeated attacks. I figured I'd come back and warn you. You know, so you wouldn't get killed while sitting here stuffing your face all alone on this fucking moon! You're welcome!"

Grif gaped, then let out a short, humorless laugh. "Typical. Even in retirement, assholes are trying to kill me. Why the hell can't I catch a single fucking break?"

"Look, I get that you're tired," Simmons said. He meant it too. He fully understood why Grif had left the group, even though he hated that their friendship somehow meant so little.

Their friendship… Memories of that day in the Temple of Procreation rose in his mind, and he quickly quashed them down. "I'm tired too. I wish this could all just be over."

"No, you don't," Grif snorted. "You'd be happy to follow Sarge off a fucking cliff if he asked you to."

"That's not true!"

"Oh, it so is."

"He didn't want me coming back here!" Simmons snapped. "So, ha! I don't do everything he tells me!"

This caused Grif to pause. That was true. Sarge definitely wouldn't have wanted to spare one of his own men to simply send a warning to Grif. "Okay, so what gave you the balls to go against him?" he asked, his voice taking on a slight hint of interest. "I kinda want to know how that went down."

Simmons stared at the ground, not wanting to relive his departure from Red Team. "I needed to see you," he said, his voice coming out way softer than he had intended.

"Huh?" Grif blinked, suddenly at a loss for words. Something about the tone of Simmons's voice was making his chest hurt. It was a familiar pain, one he had tried desperately to ignore for years.

For a moment, he was in the Temple again. Simmons was curled up next to him, head nestled in the crook of his neck. The cyborg half of his face was warm from resting against Grif's bare skin. That was the one time that pain had actually gone away.

Then, the effects of the Temple faded. That sense of fear and awkwardness returned. The two had separated, refusing to look at each other. The pain in his chest returned tenfold, and Grif vowed never to speak or think of it again.

"I said I needed to see you," Simmons repeated. "I'm not leaving without you."

Grif felt his heart growing steely again. Of course Simmons was trying to get him to go back to the others. Of course he didn't really get it. Not this time! he thought. This time, I'm actually doing what's right for me. No more getting dragged around the fucking universe to find a Blue who won't fucking die. No more getting yelled at by Sarge. No more!

"I'm not going back!" he said firmly. "I already told you: I'm done. I quit."

There were those ugly words again. Simmons felt tears welling up in his one human eye. "Well, I'm not quitting you, asshole!" he shouted, his voice coming out as half a sob.

Again, Grif found himself unable to speak. The sudden sharpness of Simmons's voice actually made him take a step back. He blinked, not sure what to say.

Thankfully, Simmons had plenty to say. "I'm not quitting you!" he repeated. "Not now! Not after all these years! I can't do it." He shook his head slowly. "I can't do it without you. I know that now. It wasn't Sarge's approval that kept me going all this time. It was bitching about every little thing with you, yelling at you when you didn't clean up your fucking room, knowing you were there during every battle."

He looked directly at Grif's face, hoping he was meeting his eyes through their helmets. "That's why I'm not going anywhere without you. If you decide to go help the others, I'll be right with you. If not, I'll be right here. We'll probably want to work on cloaking this place a little better, though."

Grif listened to Simmons's speech, completely stunned. For the first time in a while, he felt hot tears welling up in his eyes. Was he dreaming? He had to be. Throughout his life, no one had ever put him first. Someone else had always been more important than him, whether it was Kai, Sarge, fucking Church…

Unable to vocalize this sense of shock, he instead resorted to his usual insulting attitude. "What, are you becoming my personal stalker now?"

"No! I…" Simmons could feel his face becoming wet with tears. He didn't know how much more of this he could handle. "I'll leave. If you want me to, I'll go. Just tell me this: Did you really mean it? Do you really…hate all of us?"

In that moment, Grif could feel his mental walls crumbling. He hated that broken undertone in Simmons's voice. It was too fucking painful. "No," he found himself saying, his voice losing all of its usual sarcasm and edge. "I don't hate any of you. I want to punch Donut in the fucking throat most of the time, Tucker is too high and mighty for his own good, and don't even get me started on Sarge." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But…I don't hate anyone. I…I don't think I can hate you."

Simmons felt his chest lighten almost immediately. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice cracking a little.

"Yeah," Grif muttered, coughing to hide the tears in his own voice. "And, I don't want you to go."

That was all he needed to hear. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Simmons nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice still shaky. "Well, let's see about cloaking this place from the UNSC. I actually had some ideas involving converting the basement to a full-time-"

"Take off your helmet," Grif cut in. He was done. His chest felt like it was going to implode. If he didn't act on this, he'd go crazy. He and Simmons literally had an entire moon to themselves. There was no Sarge. No mission. No immediate danger. He was out of excuses.

"Huh?" Simmons felt his heart stutter at the tone in his friend's voice. "Why do you want me to-?"

"Just do it," Grif muttered. Before I lose my fucking nerve.

Simmons paused, then complied. He unclasped his helmet, pulled it off, and set it to the side.

Grif fumbled with his own helmet, practically threw it to the ground, and closed the distance between them in less than a second. He registered the stunned look on his best friend's tearstained face before he grabbed his shoulders, leaned in, and pressed their lips together.

Simmons let out a gasp against Grif's mouth. Then, his knees turned to jelly and he wrapped his arms tightly around Grif's midsection to anchor himself. He shut his eyes, parting his lips for Grif's insistent tongue. He tasted cheese whiz, crackers, and flat soda, and it was fucking perfect!

There were no pheromones this time, no weird Temple pulses influencing them. This was just them. Just Simmons and Grif, two people who met by chance and were never destined to be apart since then.

Grif's heart thudded loudly as Simmons twined their tongues together. He gripped the maroon soldier's shoulders tightly, terrified that he would disappear if he loosened his grip for a second.

Simmons squirmed a little, trying to move back enough to undo his armor's gloves. He managed to remove the one over his human hand, and pressed his palm to the side of Grif's patched, partially tan, partially white face. He stroked his friend's cheek, feeling the spots where Grif's skin turned to the skin Simmons had given him after that incident with the tank so long ago. During the first few days, he had mused that he was forever a part of Grif. It turned out that weird, literal sentiments meant little.

This, on the other hand, meant everything.

Grif gasped at the gentle touch to his face, and nuzzled unabashedly against Simmons's palm. He dared to open his eyes, and was immediately floored by the look on his friend's face. Simmons's one green eye was still watery with unshed tears, but was gazing at him with this weird, foreign, tender expression. Even his glowing red cyborg eye seemed to be flickering with emotion. His lips were upturned in the happiest smile Grif had ever seen.

New tears sprang to Grif's eyes and trickled down his cheek, and- Oh, shit! Simmons was leaning in and kissing away his tears, and this was just too fucking much to deal with!

Simmons peppered soft kisses over Grif's face, tasting salt with each touch. He wiped at the extra tears with his thumb, brushed his lips against his friend's eyelids, then moved down to his mouth again. This time, he took control of the kiss, making it slow and sweet.

Grif felt the urgency and desperation from before fading as Simmons swept him away in a softer, gentler kiss than the first one. His hands moved downward so that he could wrap his arms snugly, but not too tightly, around him. He felt Simmons's hand moving back to play with his hair, and wondered if it was really possible to feel this happy.

They eventually drew back enough to stare at each other. Their breaths mingled as two sets of half-lidded, mismatched eyes blinked slowly. Then, simultaneously, grins spread across their faces.

"This is really fucking gay, dude," Grif muttered, raising a playful eyebrow.

Simmons burst out laughing. "No shit!"

Grif's grin widened at the sound. It occurred to him that he hardly ever heard Simmons laugh, even after knowing him for so long. He was glad that he could be the one to make it happen. He rested his forehead against Simmons's, feeling cool metal and warm skin. "Don't go," he murmured.

Simmons closed his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. "I won't."

After a moment, Grif asked: "So, should we take this to my room?"

Simmons gave him a deadpanned look. "Have you cleaned in there?"

"Uh, define 'cleaned.'"

"Didn't think so. We're taking this to my room."

"Doesn't matter to me!"

Simmons rolled his eyes. "You know you need to clean up there, right?"

"Stop nagging! You'll ruin the mood!" Grif snapped, though his voice held no true bite at this point.

Simmons snickered. "Fine. You get a pass for now."

"Good." Grif was already undoing the clasps of his armor. "Let's pick things up where we left off."

"I thought we weren't ever going to mention that," Simmons teased.

"Shut up."

They still needed to figure out how to hide from the UNSC. They still needed to talk about what they were going to do next and clear the air around several subjects. There were a thousand feelings, facts, and actions that needed to be addressed, but that didn't matter just then.

Just then, they were going to say "fuck it" and be selfish for a little while. At least Grif would be living up to Tucker's expectations.

I desperately want Simmons to say that he isn't quitting Grif. I need this, okay? It's very important! Anyway, peace out!