The knife cut into him again. He could feel it. He could hear Sarge's laugh as he continued to mutilate the orange spartan's body. He was going to die. He was going to die without getting to tell Simmons . . .
Grif cried out, startling awake in bed. He felt like he couldn't get a breath. Were his lungs – well, Simmons' lungs – even working?
Grif climbed out of the top bunk, practically falling down the ladder. He made so much noise, how could Simmons have not woken up? He rolled his eyes and shook the other Spartan awake.
"Simmons. Simmons, please. Please wake up" Grif rasped.
Simmons grumbled and opened his eyes. "The fuck d'ya want, Grif?"
"I can't . . . I- I can't . . ." Grif pleaded helplessly clutching his throat as he tried to drag in air.
That got Simmons' attention. The maroon Spartan sat up. "Grif, you're having an asthma attack. What caused this?" Simmons' eyes lit up, "Were you excercising?!"
Grif shook his head, eyes wide with fear. "Am." Breath. "I." Breath. "Gonna." Breath. "Die?" Grif gulped. If . . . I am . . . I . . . need to . . . tell you . . . something . . ."
"Grif! You're not gonna die!" Simmons eased, chuckling. You just have to use an inhaler."
"In-inhaler?" Grif gasped as Simmons pulled his old one from under his pillow.
"Here." Simmons tried to hand it to the orange Spartan, but the Hawaiian backed away in fear.
"N-no! I-Isn't there" Breath. "Some other" Gasp. "Way?" Grif was backed into the corner of Simmons' bed, holding the maroon Spartan off.
"Grif! God dammit! You're just gonna make it worse!" Simmons shoved the inhaler in Grif's mouth and pushed down.
Suddenly, everything opened up and Grif got a good breath in. "Oh . . ." he mumbled. "That actually worked . . ."
"Well, duh!" Simmons laughed. "Why were you having an attack anyway?"
"I . . . uh. . . " the orange Spartan mumbled, ". . . nightmare . . ."
Simmons nodded, sage-link, "do you mind if I ask what about?"
Fear haunted Grif's eyes. "The surgery," he mumbled, "I . . . I thought I was gonna die . . . I-I need to tell you. Before I regret it . . ."
"Tell me what?" the Dutch-Irish man mumbled.
"Simmons . . . I love you . . ."