I don't own Halo or RvB, which is why I put this on a fan fiction site.

Doing nothing wasn't as easy as it sounded. Or, it would've been, if it weren't for that maroon asshole who just happened to appear around every corner just as Grif began to think he was off the hook. He removed his helmet and was just lighting up a cigarette when Simmons came bursting out of the base.

"What's up Dick-lick?" Grif said, instantly regretting he had started a conversation with the guy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Grif assumed the question was rhetorical. "I'm busting my ass doing errands for Sarge and you're slacking off right in front of my face!"

"Hey now, don't take your crap out on me. If wiping Sarge's ass makes you pissy why don't you get a hobby? Like carving dolls out of wood. I don't see how that could be useful but at least it's something to do." Simmons' was not amused. He snatched the cigarette out of Grif's mouth and threw it under his boot.

"What the fuck! That was my last one. Now I hafta open up a whole new pack!"

"Oh shit, you actually have to do something! Go make yourself fucking useful and hose down the Warthog. That's an order."

Simmons saw to it that Grif got the hose from the base, and not just another pack of cigarettes. Grif screwed it in and sprayed the "Puma" until the other soldier was satisfied and ran off again to find Sarge. Then he went back to doing what he was before: absolutely nothing.

Grif propped himself comfortably against the back wall looking out on the sea and could feel the salty breeze against his face taking hold of his senses. He prayed that Simmons would just forget about him while he fell asleep, but as his eyes were sliding shut Simmons stomped around the side of the building.

"There is no God…" groaned Grif.

"Sure there is, but he hates you." Grif opened his eyes and looked up at his fellow officer. Simmons was already a few inches taller than Grif, but while he was sitting down Simmons really did tower above him.

"You're blocking my view."

Simmons cocked his eyebrow. "What are you going to do about it?"

Grif's eyes glinted at the challenge and he slammed his foot into the side of Simmons' knee. The soldier's legs buckled beneath him and he fell hard on his shoulder. Grif exploded with laughter.

"Thanks for being so agreeable. Now I can---" Grif was cut off an armored hand clutching his throat. Grif desperately tried to pry it away but Simmons' left arm was made of a steadfast metal that wouldn't release its hold unless Simmons willed it to. Grif was dragged to his feet and up off the ground before Simmons slammed him into the wall. Now they were eye level.

"Don't ever test me or I will kick your pathetic ass."

Grif tried to form words but nothing came out. His windpipe was completely blocked off and no oxygen could get to his brain. He struggled frantically but Simmons didn't budge. Gradually his vision started to get fuzzy and just as Grif was on the brink of unconsciousness Simmons released his grip and let Grif fall to a crumpled heap on the floor.

Simmons watched as Grif gasped for breath, coughing and spluttering profanities. He knew he shouldn't have lost his temper so easily, especially around this guy. But Simmons was so sick of being treated like shit just because he did his job like a beast and didn't hate it like most recruits. Simmons was just one of those guys who always knew he would be in the army. His dad had been in the army and so had his uncle, although they never were stationed in space. He had grown up on a military base. It was his past and his future. While fighting a pointless war between two teams in the middle of nowhere was never his ideal job he figured it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Then there was Grif. Grif was a lazy asshole and Simmons didn't like dealing with lazy assholes, especially those who talked back. Grif knew just how to bring out the worst in him. Nonetheless, Simmons knew he'd gone to far this time.

The maroon man walked to the other side of Grif and sat down beside him. Grif was holding his throat, glaring at him with the stare of the devil. Simmons wasn't initially disturbed by the look assuming it was a natural reaction to someone who just near strangled him, so he calmly went about his business. He placed both hands on his helmet and pulled it off is jerky motion. He never took his helmet off while on duty but he figured he could go for some fresh air to cool off.

Grif had only seen Simmons once before without his helmet on and was nighttime so it was dark and he didn't get a good look at his face, so it was surprising to Grif how attractive Simmons was. He'd just assumed Simmons was some dowdy geek who joined the army to be around other men. What the hell was a man in his prime physical condition doing in the army of his own freewill? Grif joined the army so that he could pay for his college education but that was before the war began. Suddenly he found himself in the middle of an unknown galaxy blasting the butts off alien freak-shows.

Then he was deported, and now here he found himself with Simmons, who's auburn hair had long grown out of the standard crew cut, and who's sharp eyes could cut holes through the atmosphere. Grif shook his head in attempt to clear his head, but winced in pain as the skin on his neck stretched to either side. He was sure the front side of his neck must be bright red. He stroked the tender skin in attempt to relieve the stinging flesh.

"Sorry. I lost my temper," Simmons stated with out even a hint of remorse in his voice. The look he gave Grif said he wasn't sorry at all. In fact, Grif was almost positive he'd do it again if he thought he could get away with it.

"Funny joke," Grif replied coldly.

"Hopefully this is a lesson to you to say on task and not fiddle-fuck around."

Grif wished words could physically injure a person. "Fuck you fat head. FAT. FUCKING. CHANCE."

Simmons eyes narrowed menacingly. "I hate you."

Grif faltered for a second, not anticipating such blunted comeback.

Simmons stuck again. "I hate you and I'd kill you if I could. This pointless brawl with Blue Team would be SO MUCH MORE BEARABLE if you just ceased to exist."

Grif opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out. He finally managed to say something, but it sounded pitiful and forced. "Then why did you save me? Half of my working organs used to belong to you."

"That was Sarge. Can you believe it? Sarge likes you more than I do."

Grif was at a complete loss for words. Simmons eyes were bearing down on him with immeasurable intensity. It was becoming hard to breathe. Grif hastily turned away. He felt like throwing up all the horrible emotions burning into his system.

"Take it back, Simmons. Don't hate me," his voice sounded shaky.

Simmons' glare became muddled with surprise and then concern. "Don't worry, Grif. I wasn't serious. You get on my nerves a lot but I was just venting steam."

"But when you said it you meant it." Grif knew he was probably crazy. A regular guy can only last so long when the only people you ever see ever are the people you can't stand. But Simmons was the only person he could trust to give a shit about him. Right now Simmons looked uncomfortable and confused, but Grif knew he couldn't lose him.

"Simmons, I need you." As soon as Grif processed the words his face turned the same shade as his raw throat. "What I mean is I need you to not hate me 'cause everyone hates me and I can't lose you 'cause you're my only friend and I need you." That didn't make it any better.

"I'm your only friend," said Simmons. It wasn't a question.

"We're not really friends but I don't have any friends out here and you're the only person who cares what the hell I do with my spare time…"

"I don't hate you, Grif. I was just taking my shit out on you. So calm down." Simmons' tone was firm like that of someone scolding a child. Grif felt like crying but he also didn't fell like being called a pussy for the next few months so he swallowed the lump in throat and try to focus on breathing in and out.

Simmons stood up and dusted himself off. Then he walked over to Grif and pulled him up off the ground by his under arm. "It's ok Grif. You're not alone. We don't have to like each other to be friends." Grif suddenly found his face in dangerous proximity to Simmons face. The narrow distance was unsettling.

"But Simmons I do like you…" Grif hated to admit it but it was true. He thought Simmons was a kiss ass but he was also a great guy.

"Thanks Grif. That makes your attitude so much easier to deal with on a regular basis." He turned to pick his helmet but Grif stopped him and pressed his lips against his in a light peck.

Simmons had to fight his own body to make intelligible words. "G-Grif I didn't think you liked me like that…"

Grif's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "I don't!"

"But you…"

"I DON'T KNOW WHY!"

Both stared at each other with flushed faces. Grif ran around and grabbed Simmons' helmet shoving back into his arms.

"There, put that on! My helmet is on the other side of the base. I'll just go get it." But now it was Simmons turn to stop Grif. Tossing his helmet to the side he grabbed Grif into a passionate and feverous kiss. Grif was so caught up in the impulsive physical needs of his own body he didn't question or struggle against Simmons at all. Everything around them was whisked away in the spur of the moment.

With one arm snaked around his waist and one hand roughly gripping the back of his hair, Simmons had Grif pinned tightly against him. He yanked back Grif's head sharply so that Grif cried out, giving Simmons full access to the inside of his mouth. Grif moaned when their tongues met and he felt himself melting into Simmons' broad form.

'I'm making out with Simmons, and he's really good at it too.'

"Simmons! Grif"

The tow jumped apart from each other just as Sarge stomped around the corner with a face full of irritation.

"Where the hell have you two been doing? I've been looking for you for a while, which is long time. I'm talking at least twenty minutes."

"Sorry, sir," Simmons spoke up. "I was back here teaching a Grif a lesson about what happens when you're lazy."

"Very good, Simmons. Now one of you better assist me in removing Doughnut from the kitchen. He's trying to cook, and failing, something I really don't want to deal with at the moment."

"Ok course, sir." Simmons grabbed his helmet off the ground and followed Sarge back into the base.

Grif watched him go before sinking back to the ground. He put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What the fuck…"

"Grif!" He started and hopped back to his feet. Sarge was glaring at him from the doorway. "You're not off the hook now or ever. I want you to infiltrate the Blue Base on a suicide mission."

Grif stared blankly at him for a few seconds. "No."

"Fair enough," said Sarge with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "In which case I order you to hand-polish all of the weaponry at this base. Here," Sarge tossed him a dirty looking piece of cloth. "That's my old spit rag. It's lucky." Grif fought back a gag. "And Lopez needs a oil change." Sarge shot him with his thumbs and pointer finger before disappearing back into the building.

Grif groaned. It was going to be long day, if it weren't already.