A/N: What? Grif needs love too!


Private Dexter Grif sat on his couch, staring into the TV as Law and Order celebrated it's 5 thousandth year on television by having a marathon…for six weeks. He had a beer in one hand, the remote in the other and a cigarette in his mouth. His feet were propped up on the coffee table and an ash tray was balanced precariously on his knees.

You see, Grif had finally gotten an actual day off, away from his other team members. That meant he didn't have Sarge up his ass trying to get him to do something, and he didn't have to listen to Simmons brown nose all goddamn day.

And don't even get him started on those Blues. Just…just don't bring it up.

Grif let out a long, loud belch before taking another sip of beer.

"You know you should be careful when you do that," A woman's voice said.

"Hm?" Grif looked over at the other end of the couch. A short, plump, raven-haired female in her late twenties regarded him rather blandly with deep blue eyes.

"Remember the time you burped up a chicken wing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Grif winced, recalling said incident. "Oh yeah, that sucked," he said, tapping his cigarette over the ash tray. He put it back to his lips and stared at his girlfriend, yes- girlfriend- out of the corner of his eye. Man, she worries about weird shit.

The two of them sat in silence for a while longer, the blue lights of the TV the only illumination in the room. Not that it mattered, really. All there was to see in the room was stacks of empty take-out boxes, empty beer cans and bottles and some trash bags. They weren't the cleanest couple.

Now that he thought about it, maybe that was why they got on so well. They were almost exactly the same. Granted, she wasn't as lazy he was. For instance, she bathed more than once a month. But still, the woman wasn't exactly big on housekeeping or vegetables.

She also wasn't exactly in the best of shape. Not that this bothered Grif at all, beggars can't be choosers, you know? She had a bit of a pot belly on her, but most of her extra fat seemed to like building up in her boobs. Which was fricken' awesome.

Grif smiled to himself a little as he butted his cigarette and finished the last of his beer. He supposed there were worse people he could partnered with. And hey, any woman who would let him freeload when he was on leave, and not expect him to actually put that much work into the relationship was most definitely a keeper.

He slid down the couch a little and put an arm around her.

"Soo…" he said. "Wanna go have sex?"

She sighed. "Oh gee, I don't know. Do you really want to go through all that effort nothing?"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Grif said. "Hey, wait! 'For nothing'?"

She shrugged. "Well, honey, you're not exactly a stallion in the bedroom."

"Yeah, but 'nothing'!" Grif sat up, frowning at her. "What was with all the moaning and begging, then?"

"I took acting classes when I was in college," she answered, checking her nails.

Grif pouted, slumping over a little as he muttered under his breath. "Now you tell me."

She reached over and rubbed his back. "Don't worry, your sister always makes up for it."

"Okay…"

He sat up straight again.

"Wait, WHAAAAAAAAAAAT!"