Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~Potential Biff x Temple
~Extremely one-sided/unhealthy Gene x Simmons
Other Notes for This Story:
~Err…does Gene being a creeper count?
~Also, nonconsensual drug use and just a generally really dark, upsetting atmosphere.
~Spoilers for Season 15.
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Reflective Shards: Chapter 1
When Gene was younger, well beyond the time of Desert Gulch and the subsequent madness and rage that befell it and all its unfortunate inhabitants, he often looked at his reflection in the huge mirror that his often absentee but caring mother opted to hang in the guest bedroom.
The view that looked back wasn't exactly the most impressive: a mousey-looking boy with a brown head of hair resembling the color of mud cut in a standard, unremarkable style typical of youths his age. His skin was the color of clotted cream, and his blue eyes were neither piercing nor particularly sharp. There was nothing about his appearance that stood out, nothing about him that was remarkable or memorable beyond his doting, hardworking parents and his higher than average grades.
The overall not-at-all-remarkableness of Gene's demeanor meant that even his reputation as a teacher's pet often went overlooked by those bullies who wanted their victims to be more reactionary to potential taunting. In time, he learned to hold a strong distaste for those weak fools too.
When his father heard the subsequent sound of glass shattering, he raced upstairs to find his boy, his one and only pride and joy, standing precariously in a circle of broken shards. Blood dripped steadily from Gene's fist, so it was no surprise that the shocked man asked him what happened.
The lie came easily to Gene's lips and his gullible, all too weak-minded father was quick to believe it.
Truthfully, Gene didn't hate his reflection or anything so morose. No, far from it. He always felt a lingering disappointment that no one else ever came close to matching what he saw floating beneath the depths when he looked upon a reflective surface.
Desert Gulch was a trial of patience in so many different ways. The biggest trial was the lingering sense of resentment that Gene felt in knowing that he just didn't fucking belong there.
None of them really did, despite their various quirks, save maybe Loco. But, Gene had never understood why someone like the big blue, lumbering idiot had ever joined the army to begin with. Had it been a prank that had just gotten way too out-of-hand? Loco…well, the big oaf always made him feel rather uneasy with how openly friendly he was and how childlike he could be. His surprising skill with inventing left a bitter taste in Gene's mouth because someone like Loco shouldn't be that kind of a genius. Gene tended to avoid him even more than the others as a result.
Surge wasn't exactly the worst leader he could have imagined, though calling him extreme was an understatement. Gene had learned early on to ingratiate himself to the older man, in order to best make life in the canyon tolerable, to make his plans for inevitable advancement through the ranks by sheer force of hard work and dedication all the more plausible and smooth.
Lorenzo was an efficient worker, despite the malfunction in his language software. Gene never had much reason to complain about the robot.
On the other hand, Buckey always tested his patience, but Gene rarely paid him attention outside of their skirmishes. In a way, the teal-wearing soldier with sex on the brain was someone who reminded Gene of the assholes who had thought so little of him when he had been in school, especially given his propensity to blow Gene off. The maroon-armored soldier ground his teeth and seethed behind his helmet whenever that happened, imagining how sweet it would be to finally put the jerk in his place by displaying just how much better he was than the perpetual showoff.
Cronut was annoyingly cheerful and said things that would up the rating of a movie in a heartbeat without so much as batting an eye. He got under Gene's skin incessantly with his eager to help attitude and apparent desire to upstage Gene as Surge's number two, but he was, oddly enough, the guy that Gene tended to get along with the best amongst his teammates. He was akin to a rash you just couldn't get rid of and just had to learn to put up with.
Biff tended to test the bounds of Gene's patience more than he ever cared to admit. Ever since he had been dropped off in Desert Gulch, it was like the asshole wasn't even trying! To make matters even worse, Biff was pretty much the only guy in the canyon that Temple would hear stipulations or conditions from. So, of course, Surge would listen to him more than anyone else.
Everyone knew that Mark Temple was the one who really called the shots in Desert Gulch, colors and teams be damned. Gene found it especially infuriating that he couldn't ever approach the other man like Biff seemed so adept at doing, because he knew he'd have a better chance at advancement if he had been stuck on Temple's side of the canyon instead.
Gene often thought about defecting, but wasn't sure of what the potential outcome of such a betrayal could be, especially if he had to reassess the situation later and once again join Red Team. He kind of hated both teams, to be honest. None of the other soldiers at Desert Gulch ever gave Gene enough credit. It was just the way of things.
It had probably shocked Biff to his dumbass core when Gene revealed firsthand how impressive his stealth training could be when he followed the orange-armored man during one of his sneak-outs in the middle of the night. He wasn't exactly the best at being subtle, but Biff had probably just assumed everyone else on Red Team were heavy sleepers. Gene had come across the strewn-out beach chairs, the beer, and Temple and Biff sitting side-by-side, helmets off and shooting the breeze as if they had always been the best of friends.
The two had been, he learned later. That for some fucked up reason they had been put on opposite sides of a pointless war after they had even gone through the trouble of enlisting together. Gene had confronted his teammate with this valuable intel because he wanted to get a rise out of the other man. Biff had been surprised, sure, but he quickly made the whole thing out to be no big deal, stating that if Gene could simply keep his mouth shut for a little while longer it would be great for all of them.
Gene had, albeit reluctantly, agreed. He would watch them, though, whenever Biff and Temple were together, noting the subtle cues that the others still seemed oblivious too. He seethed on the inside, because it looked as if in their friendship with one another, Biff and Temple had somehow settled. Gene couldn't quite place just what he meant when he thought that, only that the notion had entered his mind and refused to leave.
Gene was never good at settling, even if it meant being alone.
Desert Gulch ended up being a place of hard lessons, though Gene had always been something of an astute learner. The pointless fighting continued, Biff and Temple continued meeting in private, and that bitter feeling of not fitting in and being left out continued to fester in the pit of Gene's gut.
…Then the two Freelancers came for what was supposed to be a relatively benign game of Capture the Flag.
Doc proved himself to be just as useless and inept when it came to medicine as Gene always suspected him to be. He watched as Temple sat on the ground, armor covered in Biff's blood as he gripped a rust-colored flag pole tightly in his hands long after the others had buried his friend's body.
When Temple finally, finally seemed to get his bearings again, he rose up once more and violently hurled the flag pole to the ground at everyone's feet. Gene was somewhat pleased, at least, to know that he wasn't the only one who had taken a step back at Temple's action.
"We have a lot to do if we're going to make sure they pay." Temple breathed out dangerously to the surviving Blues and Reds.
Everyone took it as an order, which is what it was intended to be.
As it turned out, the Reds and Blues that formerly lived in Blood Gulch were, surprisingly, both similar and dissimilar to the Blues and Reds of Desert Gulch. As plans progressed, Temple became rather obsessed with them. He resented how the group somehow managed to rise up against the unjust odds that had been stacked against them, how they had chosen to apparently turn their backs on the plights of their fellow Simulation Troopers to rub elbows with the elites, even going so far as to offer support and comradeship to many of the Freelancers who had viewed them as disposable pawns before.
The Blues and Reds often caught Temple staring at vid feeds of the Reds and Blues' orange-armored soldier when they came across them, clearly angry that theirs was still alive and was not at all Biff.
But, it was the lanky one in maroon armor virtually identical to Gene's own, who so often showed up side-by-side in the vids and images with the orange one that caught Gene's attention the most. Gene always had to hold back a snort of disbelief at their maroon-armored soldier, because like fuck would he have ever deigned to stand that close to Biff voluntarily.
The soldier's name was Simmons, Temple had told them disinterestedly in passing as he went over the names of all of their soon-to-be-targets.
"Eh," Buckey glanced over at Gene with a grin and elbowed him in the shoulder rather hard, his smirk only widening when the brown-haired man rubbed the spot rather tenderly a second later before shooting him an annoyed glare, "He even kind of stands like you, dude."
Gene narrowed his eyes and made a face, "Hardly." He said as distastefully as possible, wanting Buckey's poor attempt at a conversation over and done with since Temple had turned to glare at the two for their interruption. They had all learned the hard way not to make Temple angry.
But Gene's eyes drifted over to the still image being displayed on the screen, and he couldn't stop himself from pursing his lips and wondering what the man named Simmons looked like underneath his maroon helmet.
The "Murder Room," as Cronut had so delicately decided to call it since there was no need to sugarcoat what it was built for after all, was the last part of the underwater base to be finished. Ironically, it was the first part to be actively used.
Temple was very efficient when he put his mind to something, and Gene had learned early on to be impressed by efficiency. A part of him was rather glad that the hallway leading to the Murder Room was soundproof, and smell-proof too.
If Loco caught wind of just what was actually happening down there, he had a feeling that none of them would ever get a good night's sleep again. Loco already had enough nightmares of Biff dying that Temple only just tolerated because they weren't supposed to speak about Biff anymore unless Temple allowed them to, and Loco still got upset at the raids and outpost attacks even after Surge and Cronut had somehow managed to convince his simple-minded self that they were all being done in self-defense.
The others more or less ignored that the Murder Room even existed. Lorenzo pointedly never went in its direction for anything, and every time a new Freelancer was uncovered, Buckey made a rather tasteless joke about how Temple would bring them "you-know-where" and that was about it for his comments on the subject.
Surge had managed to convince himself that all of the Freelancers "had it comin'" on account of what happened to Biff, though his finger always twitched on the trigger of his weapon as he wrestled with his own personal preference for a firing squad.
Cronut preferred the more in-your-face disposal methods that a cut throat or a bullet to the face provided. As it turned out, he had proven himself to be rather ruthless during missions. But, he always schooled his expression into a bright smile whenever he asked Temple just how long he thought one of their "guests" might last this time.
Truth be told, Gene found himself rather morbidly fascinated by the whole process.
After all, technically speaking, armor-lock was a design function meant to help prolong the life of the armor-wearing person that initiated it. To use it to bring about someone's demise, to slowly kill them while they were trapped within the unmoving confines of a suit normally worn to protect? Well, Temple certainly won points for creativity.
But, Gene also felt that he failed to see a bigger picture.
Sealing someone inside their own armor, leaving them to slowly rot and decay from the inside out? Sure, it was poetic, but Gene had always been more interested in what it would take to keep someone alive for as long as possible.
Alive, but completely and utterly helpless. Reliant on someone else for even the most rudimentary tasks needed for survival. Wouldn't that be the most ideal form of revenge? Prolonging everything for just that much longer.
But, he knew better than to voice his opinion out loud. Arguing with Temple was not a wise move by any means, and having him or the others looking at him askance because "Holy fuck, Gene, that's going a bit extreme don't you think?" wouldn't do him any favors.
The other Blues and Reds tended to avoid the Murder Room, contenting themselves with other preparations for the grand mission, especially after Temple would initially bring a guest down there.
Gene had gone down once, a few days into one of the Freelancer's stays. He had stood in the open doorway, the smell of decay hitting him like a brick wall. He saw the way that the newest addition to the room was holding out a bottle of some kind of liquid in his now frozen grip, as if he'd been offering someone a friendly drink.
He bet that, when he had locked the guy in place, the man's amicable gesture had amused Temple to no end.
The rather delirious agent started calling out incoherently once he heard the door open, begging for help and voicing the name of past acquaintances as if trying to guess who might have come to his supposed rescue.
Just as the guy weakly asked if his name wasn't York, apparently wanting to know if York had gotten out to the beach finally too, Gene silently turned around and walked away. He never spoke about the incident once the door slammed shut behind him.
Once it was time to bring the Reds and Blues into the fold, keeping up appearances was a bit trickier than expected. There were complications.
The orange soldier, Grif, was nowhere to be found. Temple initially seemed especially upset by that news, either because he had wanted to meet the guy to see just how similar he might actually be to Biff, or because he wanted to put a bullet through his visor for daring to still be alive and around while Biff was fucking gone. Gene really couldn't say which was more likely. Temple was pretty unpredictable.
Temple adjusted though and made due. Maybe he figured if Grif was alive out there somewhere and learned that the others had either decided to join up eventually or had died, it would make things all the sweeter.
The journalist and her young cameraman definitely threw a wrench in the works with their unexpected appearance and constant attempts at snooping around. But Temple didn't want to kill them yet, relishing the unexpected opportunity they provided for the entire universe to know just why things would go as he intended them to. Though, later on, Temple would change his mind and decide that they had outlived their usefulness too.
Loco and Surge actually went ahead and seemed to bond with their counterparts from Blood Gulch. Gene could understand Loco's reasoning for doing so well enough since he barely had a grip on the plan at the best of times, but Surge genuinely wanting to bring Sarge into the fold instead of outright killing him was rather surprising given his tendency to lean towards the latter.
Buckey seemed to lose whatever interest he might have possibly had in palling around with Tucker once he decided to "volunteer" to keep Dylan Andrews company. If you got what he meant, Buckey would always add with a suggestive eyebrow waggle for added emphasis. Gene didn't exactly blame the reporter for attempting to escape Buckey's scrutiny, though it certainly ended up putting Temple on edge enough to the point where he had to pull his overly horny teammate to the side and tell him to be "fucking discreet and have some class for once."
Lorenzo and Lopez both seemed to understand each other, but also seemed far too content with being on their own at the fringes of their respective groups to truly attempt breaking the status quo.
On the surface, both Cronut and Donut seemed to have a connection that could very well break the foundation of the universe as everyone knew it. Gene found himself turning off his radio with a shudder whenever the two of them started up a dialogue over it.
It seemed as though they were hitting it off so well, in fact, that Gene actually pulled his teammate aside once. "Do you think you can still do it?" Gene asked Cronut in a hushed tone.
"Do what?" Cronut beamed over at him brightly, and it was hard not to remember when he had done that last time with blood still dripping down his face, "I'm always ready and raring to pound it into you if you need a pep boost!"
Okay, he would need to bleach his brain after this was all over.
"No! I mean," Gene lowered his voice even further, "Do you think you can still kill Donut if you, you know, have to?"
"Oh!" Cronut's expression softened for a moment before a surprisingly stony look crossed over his face, "I'm ready to gut him like a fish if it comes to that. Any time." He intoned rather seriously, a hand hovering over the knife he kept concealed in his armor ever since Biff had died.
Gene felt his shoulders sag in relief, "Whew, I thought for a moment there…"
"What about you, Gene?"
"Huh?" Gene blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question.
Cronut was regarding him carefully, "Will you be able to, you know…with Simmons, or…?"
"Um…" He fidgeted slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see if he could spot familiar maroon armor in the process.
Simmons had quickly proven himself to be an annoying complication too, especially for Gene. For starters, his mood seemed to fluctuate between downright sulky and sullen to intensely depressed at the drop of a hat.
Caboose, the moronic member of the Blue Team from Blood Gulch who was way too much like Loco without his infuriatingly questionable genius, had said it was because Simmons was missing his "bestest friend ever" at the moment. Gene had thought it stupid, considering how he would never get so upset over that fucking trivial a thing.
To make matters worse, as curious and oddly eager as Gene was to finally have the chance to sit down and converse with someone who might very nearly match his level to some degree, Simmons seemed to have despised him from the very moment they first met, going out of his way to pointedly try and avoid being anywhere alone with Gene.
It was infuriating. He hadn't even had the fucking chance yet to see Simmons without his damn helmet on.
Gene often spotted the man in question conversing with the reporters, or discussing suspicions and unhappiness with Tucker and the other Reds and Blues. Gene was able to catch wind of a lot of it because they apparently sounded so similar (not to his ears, but whatever) and their mannerisms were apparently enough alike that he was often mistaken for Simmons by the others from Blood Gulch.
If the other man kept up with avoiding him, then it was only a matter of time before word got out to Temple that Gene wasn't keeping his counterpart on a tight enough leash. He laughed nervously to Cronut then, "Believe me, it shouldn't be a fucking problem."
The first time that he saw Simmons outside of his armor, Gene was both immensely disappointed and rather intrigued. He had somehow convinced himself that it would be like looking into an unimpressive mirror, a dull reflection staring impassively back at him before he smashed it.
Instead, a way too pale face was glancing anywhere but at him (that was annoying) with a myriad assortment of freckles dotting any piece of skin remotely visible. Simmons had an expressive green eye that was surprisingly clear, and red hair that was sharply vibrant. He seemed to catch onto Gene's open regard, because he turned his face to glare at him before asking "What?" with an annoyed tone.
Doing so just revealed the cybernetics on the other side of Simmons' face, the metal traveling further down his neck. His arm and another of his legs were metal too, an inorganic glowing red eye narrowing angrily when Gene pulled his regard back up to it.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Gene ended up getting out.
The flesh and blood portions of Simmons' body that were visible suddenly turned a fascinating shade of red themselves, "None of your fucking business."
He turned and walked away then in an annoyed huff, Gene's eyes remaining glued on him well until after he disappeared and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Oh, the cybernetics?" Donut questioned Gene later on when he had approached him, Doc, and Cronut on the subject, "That was from the cyborg surgery that saved Grif's life back in Blood Gulch."
"Come again?" Gene asked, not sure how that explained anything. After all, how could someone else being turned into a cyborg do a damn thing to save another person?
Donut's face had become rather crestfallen at the reminder of his absent teammate, so Doc stepped in to elaborate for Gene's benefit, "Grif was run over by a tank and since no one thought to call me," here a small note of irritability crossed his features but the pacifist was quick to sweep it under the rug, "Simmons volunteered to become a cyborg so that Sarge would use his leftover organs to save Grif's life." He shrugged, "It did the trick, even if it was a bit unorthodox if you ask me."
…Actually, the opinion of a medic who thought serving orange juice to people bleeding out was one of the best approaches to medicine mattered very little to Gene.
"That is such a sweet thing to do for a teammate!" Cronut exclaimed, seemingly really moved by the tale and his eyes shone with theatrical tears as he regarded Gene, "Don't you think so, Gene?"
"I…guess?"
But Gene couldn't get over the illogical notion behind it.
Maybe Temple (most likely, probably) would have sacrificed parts of one of their bodies if it meant he had a chance to save Biff's life. Temple would have most likely done it without a second thought, without even waiting for them to agree to it. But, Gene? Gene couldn't think of any reason he would ever go to such lengths to save one of his asshole teammates.
His gaze landed on the redhead further away, and he clenched his fists at his sides. The whole thing fucking perplexed and frustrated him to no end.
Simmons didn't necessarily seem to mind the inherent claustrophobia being underneath the ocean caused, but Gene quickly picked up on him having a bizarre aversion to closets.
Despite Simmons' grumbling over it, they had been assigned to get supplies together and Gene noticed the way the lanky cyborg stiffened uncomfortably in the doorway.
"Let's get going." Simmons grumbled quickly, already leaving.
Gene learned from Caboose about the incident with Grif and Simmons in the storage closet back on Chorus. He frowned, a disgusted feeling entering his gut at the implications that the childlike Blue was clearly not getting.
He remembered how tense and uneasy Simmons had gotten just standing there, half-heartedly holding a flashlight as he peered into the gloom. If Gene had pulled, dragged him into the dark along with him, what kind of reaction could he have gotten from Simmons then?
"What the fuck did you say to Caboose?" Simmons demanded, his breath hot on Gene's face as he stepped right up into his personal space bubble.
Normally, such an action would have pissed Gene the fuck off. To be truthful, it still did even as he felt an odd thrill of excitement and a growing sense of confusion over what was happening.
Gene narrowed his eyes and tried to pull himself up even taller so that he could be just as terrifying and intimidating as the clearly upset Simmons currently was making himself out to be, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." He managed to spit out in annoyance.
Simmons' eyes, both human and cybernetic, narrowed, "You told him that Church wasn't going to come back! What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Ah, so it was Simmons' turn to be the overprotective parent this time. Temple was right: the Reds and Blues seriously babied the youngest Blue Team member way too much.
"I was simply telling him the facts." Gene informed him pointedly, "It's the only logical outcome for the situation, don't you agree?"
Simmons deflated marginally, hesitancy and remorse plastered all over his face, "Y—yes, but…"
Gene thought of Biff, lying dead on the floor once they finally pulled the pole out of his chest. He reached over and grabbed Simmons' shoulder, the gesture surprising them both. Gene was more than a little annoyed at Simmons' sudden flinch at the unexpected contact.
"People who leave like that that don't tend to come back, Simmons."
A hurtful, sad look came over Simmons' face.
Gene's fingers tightened around Simmons' shoulder, and he felt as if he would actually have him then if he could just…
"Like how you know, deep down, that Grif isn't going to be coming back."
That certainly got a reaction out of the other man, but not the one that Gene had been expecting. A flash of anger in Simmons' green eye was his only warning before a metallic fist slammed right into his left eye socket and he was on the ground, clutching at the injury and whimpering in pain.
"Leave Caboose the fuck alone!" Simmons snarled above him, fist still held up threateningly for added emphasis, "And don't you ever say Grif's name again, asshole!"
The redhead was gone a split-second later, looking as though he was inwardly debating coming back and pummeling Gene to death. Gene simply laid there, stunned. Anger and humiliation pulled at him even as a shaky smirk crossed over his mouth, excitement dancing on his tongue along with the telltale coppery taste of blood.
When Temple added the two Freelancers named Carolina and Washington to his guest list, things became that much harder to conceal. Simmons was getting frustratingly more and more inquisitive. Gene and Cronut even found him in the hallway that connected to the corridor leading straight to the "Murder Room."
"This part of the base wasn't on that tour you guys gave us earlier." Simmons frowned, looking past the two of them as they attempted to block his way, "Where does it lead again?"
"Um, nowhere too interesting!" Cronut was quick when it came to thinking on his feet, though Gene saw his hand cautiously hovering close to his side, "You know, just more storage for Loco's toys. And Buckey's too, not that I'd recommend touching those since he never cleans them."
"Uh-huh."
Simmons wasn't buying it, and he was about to get a knife in the gut for his investigative efforts. That would, decidedly, make Gene's efforts and ideas go to waste in a hurry and he hated planning things only to see them fall through.
He had a suspicion that Simmons might be the same in that regard, at least.
"Say, Cronut," Gene spoke up rather sharply then, "Didn't you have some wine left from that killer Wine and Cheese Hour you and Donut had before?"
Both Simmons and Cronut turned to glance at him, looking rather confused and curious by the sudden topic change. Gene's smile grew wider and he hoped that he could pull this off. Simmons writhing on the ground before him in agony in a pool of blood wouldn't be nearly as entertaining as what he would rather see him writhing before him for. At least, not at first.
"I just realized that you're the only one who hasn't gone through our customary Getting to Know You drinking contest." Gene continued, his voice's octave only rising slightly, "Temple would be really upset if we didn't keep that tradition alive, you know?"
Simmons' frown only deepened suspiciously, "No one said anything about that."
"Because it's done privately, you silly goose!" Cronut jumped right on board then, grabbing Simmons' arm and pulling him away down the hall rather forcibly with his best grin of disarming sunshine, "Everybody knows that."
"B—but…!"
"Oh, don't be such a party pooper!" Cronut threw a very pointed look over his shoulder Gene's way for just a moment, "I stashed a bottle or two this way. Come on!"
Gene nodded at his teammate before going off to see Doc. Or, rather, Doc's cache of medical supplies he never seemed to want to actually prescribe to anyone.
Temple had said to keep the Reds and Blues occupied, no matter what. Even if that meant getting rather creative. Even if it meant ground up sleeping pills in the bottom of one of Cronut's wine bottles that he had been saving for a "special occasion" when their guest wasn't looking.
Making the whole thing out to be a game had done the trick nicely. Gene found himself dragging a very out of it Simmons into his room about an hour later, after Cronut had put his foot down on helping any further and staunchly insisted that the whole thing was Gene's issue to deal with now.
Gene hefted the maroon-wearing man onto the mattress, running a hand over the still flesh-and-blood side of his face in the process. Before he could question just what the fuck he was doing, he bent over Simmons and pressed his lips to his.
The drugged unresponsiveness he got in return was not wholly unexpected given the situation, but still somehow disappointing all the same. He had wanted some kind of reaction, damn it!
Although Gene felt something akin to anticipation when he felt Simmons stir beneath him a few seconds later. His lips moved against his own suddenly, and Gene's hands went up to press against that red, red hair.
"S—sorry." Simmons slurred sleepily against Gene's mouth, a trail of wetness running down his freckled cheek, "Grif, I…"
Gene froze above the cyborg, really seeing red for the first time in his entire life. He left the room in a huff, getting Buckey of all people to help drag Simmons back to the Reds and Blues' temporary quarters where they unceremoniously dumped him on a couch before anyone saw.
Gene's face was burning in outright humiliation, and he didn't even shout at Buckey when he made a lewd joke afterwards at his expense.
One of the last times that he saw Simmons before the trip to Earth was in the prison area where Tucker and the others had been incarcerated following their escape attempt. Gene had come down with Sarge in the old man's futile attempt to convince his teammates to join up with Temple's group.
The result of that exchange had been roughly what Gene expected it to be, and as Sarge left in a wave of disappointment and regret, Gene paused in front of Simmons' cell. The cyborg was glaring at him beneath his visor, he was certain of that. Simmons probably wanted to reach through the bars and punch him again for added measure. The thought left Gene smiling.
"You really should reconsider, you know," Gene told the other maroon-wearing man rather smugly, "They've hurt everyone here, after all."
"Yeah, keep telling yourselves that, you asshole!" Tucker shouted back from across the space, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Gene's eyes remained fixed on Simmons, who was far from a perfect replica now that Gene had personally met him, but was still probably the closest thing to one that Gene would ever get in this fucked up universe.
"My message still got out." Simmons jutted his chin defiantly, "He's going to come."
Gene knew who he meant, and it pissed him off to know end. To see Simmons settle like Biff and Temple before him. The fact that Simmons trusted someone like that was so fucking…
"Believe whatever the fuck you want." Gene murmured under his breath before walking off.
Later, when Grif did show up and attempted a piss poor rescue mission, Gene's frustration only grew even if he was thrilled to see how poorly placed Simmons' trust had been all the same.
It was especially irksome when Temple, wanting to just get everything over and done with by that point, had put Grif and Simmons side-by-side in the cells. The two were practically off in their own little world already by the time the Blues and Reds had left.
Gene had wanted to kill Simmons when he showed up on Earth. That had been the plan, at any rate. His resentment at what he felt was an unfair rejection had turned to rage and Simmons…well, both Simmons and Grif, were to fucking blame.
He would kill Simmons just because he could. He'd do it in front of Grif and have him watch to make it even worse. He would do it all while disguised as Simmons, just to further show how incredibly stupid Simmons had been to think that any of his so-called friends would even be able to tell the difference.
If he could get Grif to take the shot, it would have been all the more sweet…
Gene hadn't expected the knife that Simmons drew to counter him, and he sure as fuck hadn't expected a moron like Grif to have thrown such an inane philosophical bullshit question their way. He had given a perfectly logical answer, the only one that made any fucking sense and was thrown over a ledge for it.
Gene didn't know how long he had precariously dangled over impossibly hot lava once the pair had left. At some point, right before his arms had nearly given out, he was pulled up and "rescued." Naturally, he killed the UNSC goon who had saved him. After that, it was easy enough to blend into the crowd with the right armor on. He was a master of stealth when he needed to be.
But that didn't really help Temple, Cronut, or Buckey…now in UNSC custody. It wasn't going to help the recently deceased Surge or Loco either. So Gene seethed and resigned to escaping without them, while the fucking heroes celebrated yet another undeserved win.
The last piece of the recording gear fell into place underneath his hand with a soft click and whirring sound to let him know that everything was in working order. Gene stood back up to look down admiringly at his handiwork. The one-way mirror showed into the dark, closet-like space before him wonderfully and he smiled at how perfectly fitting it all was.
Cleaning up this part of the colony had been a drag, what with the rotting bodies and all, but the added ambiance he knew existed right outside the doors of this safehouse certainly helped do the trick. He remained standing there for a few seconds more, staring at his tinted reflection in the glass before him while clenching his hands tightly into fists at his sides.
It had taken him a bit longer than he had planned to set this whole thing up, but now? Now, he just needed to retrieve his special guest of honor. Gene was going to make sure that they would be staying with him for a long, long time.
Author's Notes: So um, this is a thing that I wrote. It is a thing that is much darker than what I normally write, and so I figured I would post this first part now before I lost my nerve. XD
I wanted to experiment with writing from the POV of an antagonist in this part of the story, and since I haven't really written any of the Desert Gulch characters yet myself I went with one of them. I apologize if they come across as TOO dark/creepy/dangerous somehow, but I always got the impression of most of the Blues and Reds being deceptively similar to their Blood Gulch counterparts while secretly being more dangerous and deadlier than they tend to let on given how many missions they've gone on. So, that is kind of where my interpretation of Gene and the others comes from here.
As for Gene's infatuation with Simmons here, well, up until the one epic fight scene in Season 15, Gene never showed much animosity towards Simmons at all comparatively and it made me sort of wonder: what if Simmons didn't like Gene because he inherently doesn't tend to like himself due to his self-esteem issues, but Gene doesn't necessarily have those views himself since they are different characters? That's also why Simmons and Grif complement one another so wonderfully: they are different but similar and balance the other which is why they tend to become wrecks when not together. Gene also never showed a bond as strong with anyone as Simmons has with Grif, so I could see that being a point of contention and confusion for Gene too when it comes to this person who is supposedly so like him. Me blowing things way out of my butt, but there you have it. XD
This story will go on for at least two more chapters most likely if I can gather up the courage to write them out, though most of those will probably be told from the POV of a certain other maroon-wearing character and others besides simply being Gene's take on things. But, this was a fun-ish chapter to explore and write out: definitely more different and experimental than what I'm used to writing, that's for sure! XD
I'm not involved in the Angst War beyond commenting on all of the awesome works people are posting for it since I don't have a Tumblr myself, but I'm totally blaming all of you way more talented and wonderful writers out there for getting my emotions all worked up and getting this idea to not immediately fly out of my head like it probably should have! :D
Thanks for reading, regardless, and I hope it wasn't too horrible! XD