"And then, you drove this fucking car through the wall like it's some kind of fucking badass battering ram!"

Grif, previously sitting on the bed, now laying and laughing loudly until tears were streaming down his face.

"Oh shit, that must have been a shitload of fun!" wheezed the Hawaiian.
"You can bet your stash of Oreos on it." For the first time in days, Simmons was able to smile genuinely.

The picture of a grinning Grif, tears still clinging to the corners of his eyes, was just adorable. Normally, Dex wouldn't grin or laugh so genuinely.
This laugh was open and honest. Maybe he could laugh like that because he didn't remember the cruelties which happened to him during the last years, making him to the sarcastic and cynical person he had been before.

Some days had passed since Grif had woken up, not remembering anything. Grey said that this could happen after a hit to the head; most likely, his memories would come back after some days. Wash decided to make Simmons Grifs personal guardian. The maroon armored soldier knew the Hawaiian best to answer almost every question Grif would have and knew how to put up with his moods.

Grif moved back to his room and Wash made the others covering Simmons and Grifs duties. First, Simmons hadn't been too happy to be a burden for the others.
But his friends flipped him off, saying that he had a more time consuming duty. Looking out for Grif.

However, they were in their room now, it was early evening and Grif still had the order to stay in bed. They had a pretty awkward scene where Simmons asked if Grif was okay living here.

They had been bunkmates before, but if he wanted a room on his own, Simmons would look with Kimball to apply to his wish. Luckily, Grif denied that, saying that he was okay like that, as long as he would have his own bed to lay on. Simmons laughed and said that it was maybe better like that.

Grifs concussion still wasn't fully healed. Straining it wouldn't also help his amnesia.
Maybe some more days and he would join the training with the other recruits.

Although Simmons had the suspicion that Grif would remember the fighting because it had gotten some kind of reflex by now. He also just knew things. Like that them sharing a room was a given since years.

It was strange at first, but somehow it fueled Simmons hope that there still could be the original Grif around somewhere. That Grif hadn't gotten lost completely, but that he was still somewhere in there and just needed to get dug out of the dirt covering his personality and his memories.

He wasn't sure why he was still hoping that the Grif he knew would come back. With every passing day, the hope that Grif would remember fully vanished into thin nothingness. Yet, Simmons still clung to this hope like it's a fucking lifeline.


"Yes sir!" answered Grif enthusiastically to a rather idiotic order of his commanding officer, Sarge. Although Grif doubted that Sarge actually was his real name. Honestly, who's going to name his child 'Sarge'? What a fucking idiotic name. But well, he introduced himself as Sarge and Simmons and the others, he already forgot half of the names again, referred to him with that name. So it probably was his name.

Said red armored soldier stood there for some moments, looking at Grif before turning around briskly and walking away. Did he do something wrong that Sarge was looking at him so long?
Walking away to the storage area to again check the weaponry and clean every gun.

They had gotten cleaned by this teal guy from 'blue-team' minutes ago. Sarge rambled something about to not trust those filthy blues, which led to the order for Grif to again clean the weapons. Walking to the storage area, Grif still pondered about the possible mistakes he could have made.

After checking through the crates, Grif began to disassemble, clean and reassemble every gun, working quickly, but thorough all the same.

He didn't know how he had been before the accident with Jensen. The girl had shown up some days ago, apologizing again and again. (God had this girl a fucking horrible lisp)
He accepted the apologies, only asking her to try improving her driving skills in lesser a crowded area.

It felt like being newly born. He didn't remember one single thing from earlier. Not a bit. Not even his name. They could tell him that his name was Mother Fucker he would have believed it. He was a completely blank page. Not remembering something might be a blessing. To start all over again.

But it was also a curse, not knowing what happened earlier what made people the way they were. Besides knowing exactly that you forgot something important. He knew there was something. Nagging at him worse than hunger. He just couldn't find out what it was that kept him up at night sometimes.

He would often ask his bunkmate about different things. Often this Simmons-guy would try to brush up the truth. Luckily, he was rather bad at hiding things or lying.
However, when Grif asked Simmons about this important thing, he only shrugged. Obviously, Grif had never told him about that.

The other guy from blue team, who seemed to have been his best friend back then, didn't know too. He made an idiotic comment about this feeling being the forgotten love for a special cyborg, but Grif whether could agree nor deny. He didn't know it. Besides, who could he have meant? Simmons? He didn't know

That was exactly the point making him nervous sometimes. He didn't remember, but he just knew things about his 'friends'. Like when Simmons hid something. Or this teal perv was about to make a sex-joke. Like when Wash, the CO of his CO, was confronted with something unusual or one of the perv's jokes directed at him.
Or when this little ghost-AI-thingy was being sarcastic or just an asshole (was there even a difference?)

He didn't know what he should think of this whole situation. He wanted to remember, because he wanted to know who and how he was. Because he was fed up with the sympathetically glances from the people around him. He was fed up by the startled expression of some people when he was acting completely opposite of how he had been before – obviously. Just like Sarge some minutes ago.

On the other hand, he was fucking afraid of remembering. What if he had been an asshole? When he had been a horrible person to live with? When the only reason Simmons was rooming with him was that there was no other space available? When he was someone bad?

He really liked the redhead. He was a fucking nerd and easily to embarrass. But he also was there when he woke up – Every time. He was there to answer his question and probably the closest friend he had since he lost his memory. The first and closest.

He didn't want to lose that when he was his old self. Maybe Simmons and the old Grif hated each other? Maybe they rather saw each other dead? Maybe Simmons was just being so nice because Grif didn't remember and the maroon armored soldier saw an opportunity to get 'rid' of his enemy without needing to kill him and ruin his career?

Grif sighed. All those thoughts made him anxious and giddy. The more he pondered about this whole issue, the less was he sure if he really wanted to remember. Maybe it was better to start all over again when he had the possibility. Not everyone could do that. Luckily for him, most of the guys he called friends were open to him and his new character. Nobody obviously tried to press him into his old behavior.

He often seriously doubted if he still could do that. Sometimes, when he heard stories about his old self, he shakes his head, asking himself if he really had been that horrible or if they were just exaggerating.


Grif sat on his bed, observing his two mismatched hands of his. Simmons had already told him that he had gotten run over by a tank Tucker had driven. The following emergency surgery had taken place as soon as they had gotten 'spare' parts. However, Simmons had never told him where these parts came from.

Moreover, he would act strange, spluttering around and beating around the bush when he asked about this incident. He already tried to talk to Sarge, but noticed soon that this didn't really help. He would only ramble about his glorious achievement of making Simmons a cyborg.

Lopez only talked Spanish, which didn't help much more.

Caboose was also out of the count because he was the idiot of the Team. Donut would make up some kind of story spicing it up with something, which simply isn't there.

Grif remembered once asking Donut why Tucker could speak Shangheili. When the pink armored guy was done, Grif felt like in the middle of a fucking fairytale of endless love between an alien and Tucker, ending in the ultimate sign of their love: A child. Unfortunately, the alien soon died tragically, making Tucker grieve and cry for months about that. Soon, Juniors time to leave his mom-dad to explore the world on his own and become a great hero came too, leaving Tucker again grieving and crying.

When he asked Tucker then, the teal armored guy first laughed is ass of, before answering: "I got knocked up by an alien. You know the movie? Okay, dumb question. Well, the alien impregnates a human being without them noticing. And the alien-baby claws it's way out of your abdomen when ready to be born. Well, that happened to me. I got knocked up and out."
This explanation made much more sense.

However, back to the topic. Carolina and Wash hadn't been around, Church couldn't remember although having been around. He now knew that this Church-guy actually is a fragment of an AI, which had been living with the guys during this time. However, due to the earlier separation of Epsilon from Alpha he couldn't remember because he hadn't been around.

Leaves only one person. The guy who's initially responsible for the accident and Grif looking like a fucking meat puzzle.

Walking over to the bunk of the teal armored soldier, he knocked shortly, waiting for Tucker to call him in. When no answer came, he knocked again.
"Dude, since when are you so fucking polite? Normally you waltz in the room not caring what I'm doing." Remarked Tucker when he opened the door.
"Amnesia. Remember?" Grif tapped at his head with the index finger.
"Oh yeah, right. Sorry, dude. Come in."

Grif followed the dark skinned man, sitting down on the chair next to the desk. Wash already had forbidden him to sit on his bed and Grif didn't want to sit on Tuckers. He didn't fucking wanted to know what was living in there. And he rather didn't want to get any STD from Tucker.
Said guy plopped on his bed, looking over to him.
"So what do you want to know?"

Grif shortly thought how to approach the subject, in the end deciding to take the bull at his horns. "Well, I actually wanted to ask you who this was I got the body parts from after you ran me over with a tank."
There was a short silence, an incredulous expression on Tuckers face. "Dude, didn't he tell you that?"
"Who? What?" Grif was confused. What was Tucker talking about?

"Didn't you notice that Simmons is fucking half metal?"
"Uh, yeah, but he told me that this was a project of Sarge he had volunteered."
"Yeah, because you were about to die because half of your body was squished by a tank."

Again, a silence settled in, Grif pondering about the things he just heard. He felt Tuckers glance on him, suddenly feeling all fidgety.
"So you're saying that… I got Simmons body parts because he volunteered for Sarge's project when I got ran over by a tank? Just to save me?"

"Yeah dude, he even punched Sarge. This asshole didn't want to make you half cyborg because he thought it would be waste of material. Don't take it too personal, dude, Sarge just hated your guts. However, Simmons then volunteered under the condition that you get these parts from Simmons. Sarge mumbled something about that being acceptable although it still was a waste, but he had no other use for the body parts. Secondly, he wanted to keep up his 'no losses' doctrine he has."

"So Simmons did that to save me? But why? When Sarge thinks that I'm not worth living why then risking his own life?"
Again, Tucker stared at him with an incredulous expression. "Since when are you such a suck-up? That's normally Simmons department to be such a kiss-ass."
Grif shrugged somehow helplessly with his shoulders. "I don't know. I don't know how I had been before. And a good soldier should obey his superior. I'm just trying to do my best."

Tucker snorted. "Before that, you wouldn't have given a fuck about what Sarge told you to do or not. You slacked off, sneaked away to nap, eat or smoked, gave everyone the finger who told you to do something. Only Simmons was able to actually get you to do something occasionally. Although you mostly flipped him off too." Tucker pointed to the door. "He's the kiss-ass and" Tuckers index finger wandered to Grif. "You're the lazy slacker, the sarcastic and cynic asshole who's able to keep Simmons grounded."

Grif felt strange. It felt like Tucker was telling the truth, but he couldn't be sure as he didn't remember a thing. Tucker could also tell him that he actually was a robot, just built to be a human, to make friends and kill them all after a while. It was strange. His shoulders slumped a bit. "So you're telling me that I was a horrible soldier?"

Tucker made a movement with his head, which oddly looked like nodding and shaking at the same time. "Not necessarily. You were the calm pole for Simmons, grounded him when he freaked out, you were there when Donut needed someone to talk and didn't bother if you listened or not, you were the one calling bullshit on Sarge's plans when they had flaws or were ridiculous. You often told Sarge where to shove it when he again came up with one of his insane plans." Tucker explained. Grifs confusion grew.
"How can I have been a good soldier when I was horrible all the same?"

Tucker huffed. He looked like he was losing his patience. Strange. There was no clearly visible sign Tucker really was about to snap or something. It was like Grif just knew it. Again.

"Look. You might have been horrible when it came to following Sarge's orders and to work in any kind. But you were a good one when it came to your fellow soldiers. You were the one keeping them grounded. You often used to sneak away and not do your duty. But this was just everyone knew and liked you. They would gripe at you, sure. But you didn't give a fuck. And this attitude helped especially Simmons. He has so many issues, that he was happy to find someone not giving a fuck about his shitty past or whatever. You made him loosen up and stop being a nervous bunch of anxiety."

Tucker would have continued his rambling when there hadn't been a shout from outside. "Tucker did it!"

"Oh, fucking fuck, Caboose! What did you do again!?" shouted Tucker, already on his feet to leave the room before turning back to Grif.
"Don't worry, you were a good soldier. A lazy fuck, but a perfect match for the team." Tucker showed his widest grin he could muster before disappearing through the door, putting on his helmet.

Grif let himself out after that.


It had been almost three months since Grifs accident. According to Grey it was very unlikely that he would regain his memory after such a long time. In Grifs case it was even less likely, because he didn't even had a flashback or something. There was just nothing before he woke up in the infirmary.

Simmons felt horrible. He had lost one of his best friends back then in this accident. What was even worse was the fact that he was looking in Grifs face every day, knowing exactly that the guy standing in front of him was a completely different person. This Grif here was nice and attentive, trying to be a good soldier, not trying to be a burden for someone. He was nice. Somehow. This new Grif.

But that wasn't the Grif Simmons knew and loved. He wanted the old Grif back. His old Grif. The asshole that used to banter with him. The Grif who was around when Simmons needed him, who didn't give a fuck about his shitty past, who would ground him when he was about to lose it in his panic attacks!

Pulling up his legs to his chest, he laid his head on the knees, letting he world outside black out. He didn't hear steps coming up to him.
"You miss him, right?" Simmons lift his head, stubbornly refusing to cry, looking at Donut taking a seat on the roof or the base beside Simmons.

"Yeah." Muttered the cyborg, trying to make his voice sound steady.
"I miss him too, you know." Said Donut calmly, ignoring the way Simmons looked. The lightish red armored soldier stared up into the nightly sky. The redhead didn't care giving an answer.

After some minutes of quiet between them Donut continued. "I just heard from Grey that he's physically ok. Just that with the memory… well, that it most likely won't return. I'm sorry Simmons."

Another pause, in which he seemed to internally debate something, before adding. "However, it looks like we have to get to know him anew. And, in your case, get to love him anew."
"I loved him how he was before. Not like he is now. He is nice now, but that's not the character I fell for." Muttered Simmons, also looking up into the sky.

Back in Blood Gulch they often used to sit on the roof when it was simply too hot to sleep in their bunks.

They would sit on the roof, feet dangling over the edge and talk about everything and nothing. They would discuss heavier subjects as well as banter pointlessly, bickering over hours, laughing about nothing in particular until their bellies hurt.
Sometimes Simmons would explain him something and Grif would just listen, sometimes making a remark that he was a nerd, an all that.

He missed it. Since this accident, Simmons sat alone on the roof of the base, starring up to the starry sky.


"So we pushed the Warthog over the edge after Sarge jelled 'shotgun' about ten times before?"
"Yeah exactly." Simmons smiled wearily.
"And what happened afterwards?" Grifs eyes were gleaming with curiosity.

Simmons pointed to Grifs hands. "This happened."
"Huh?"
"The Meta grabbed your leg when getting dragged down. While you slipped towards the edge, you grasped for everything you could reach. Underneath the snow was hard and sharp ice, slicing up your hands. The Kevlar did do nothing to protect your hands. The ice went through the material like it was nothing."
"Ouch. So I managed to grab a hold on one of the sharp icicles?"

"Not exactly." Simmons nervously began to fiddle with his fingers. "You were about to slip. I ran after you and managed to grab your hand. But your hands were slippery from the blood and you slipped. Somehow, you managed to lodge the bruteshot into the ice wall right underneath the cliff and hold on to it. We could lift you back over the edge after that."
"So you saved me? Again?"
Simmons shrugged helplessly with his shoulders, his face having a tinge of red.

"What happened after?" Either Grif was even more oblivious to Simmons reactions than the old Grif ever had been or he politely decided to ignore it. Either way, the cyborg hated it. The old Grif would needle him relentlessly about it when he noticed something special about the redheads behavior, making sure to drive Simmons up the walls. He wanted the old Grif back!

"We dragged you over the edge, bringing you to the base. We had no First Aid Kit, so I made some makeshift bandages and told you to keep them over your heart and maybe on some cold surface to stop the bleeding." Recounted the cyborg

"Back at the base, Sarge knocked you out with the shotgun. He probably though it's more effective than a narcosis, and we cleaned out and sewed the cuts on your hands." Explained Simmons, a fond smile appearing at these memories. It had been fucking annoying back then. Yet he wished back those days. Where Grif still was Grif.

Grif said nothing, just looking up to the stars from the roof of the base. It was the first time the orange armored soldier actually came up here to sit with the cyborg, watching the stars and talk. It was oddly familiar and yet so unknown that it made Simmons heart hurt. The redhead decided to tell Grif one of his fondest memories. "During the four weeks you always used to joke that you have mummy hands. Trying to get away with duties and even make me feed you."

The Hawaiian snorted. He didn't reply, which made Simmons fidgety. It was one of his fondest memories and yet Grif seemed to think of it as ridiculous. As he didn't know this 'new' Grif, he decided to not comment or ask about this reaction, just taking as it is. He didn't know what this reaction had meant, so he kept his mouth shut.

After this rather heavy subject, they soon went back to discuss more light themes, Simmons sometimes telling Grif what his old self would have done or said. It often made Grif shake his head in disbelief, asking if he really had been that horrible back then.

Of course, Simmons would deny it, saying that his reactions often were provocative, but that it was fine the way he had been back then. And that he was fine the way he was now. Although the last thing was a blatant lie.


The rolling thunder still was far, but Simmons was already laying curled up in his bed, shaking with fear and suppressed pain.

Thanks to his dad, he feared almost everything. He dreaded everyone and everything. Every new situation stressed him, scared him.
Until some weeks ago, there would have been Grif, soothing and encouraging him. Making him stand through everything being thrown at him.

Thanks to Grif, Simmons managed to get over a lot of his fears, chasing them away just by being here. Sometimes, the redhead thought that Grif might have squashed Simmons fears just by flopping down on the bunk/ground beside Simmons, making him feel already a lot better.

Well, he couldn't rely on this anymore. Grif didn't remember having been his tower of strength. That he was around when Simmons felt like breaking down and cry. That he ever so often helped him through those nights where he would dread the thunder and wince from pain from the shifting air pressure.

The redhead had his back to Grifs bunk, trying not to be too loud to not disturb the sleeping Hawaiian on the other side of the room.
The orange armored soldier crashed almost immediately after returning from dinner and getting showered.

It was nice, thought Simmons. No running after him to shower because the redhead couldn't stand the smell of old sweat. Grif did it on his own.

Still, it didn't feel right. He was so used to gripe at Grif for everything, he even loved it. Because it had been part of their own dynamic. Which got lost four months ago.

An especially vicious thunder made Simmons flinch, letting loose a slight whimper and burying deeper in his sheets. He already thought of moving down to the storage area. Thick walls letting no sounds in, no windows letting the light of the lighting in. All in all a perfect place to be.

Thing was, he didn't dare. He was simply too much of a coward. Even the rain drumming against the windows made him almost freak out.

Thanks to another thunder, Simmons didn't hear the shuffling from the other side of the bed. It wasn't surprising then did he almost jump through the roof when there was suddenly a second weight on the bed.
You know, like in those horror movies. Every time people get killed, it rains. There's never sunshine when a psychotic killer takes bloody revenge on his former bullies.

"You know, I still don't remember. It's just like I know stuff. Like now, that you aren't very happy when there's a thunderstorm." Muttered Grif. Old Grif would have never said that, thought Simmons bitterly. He would have just lift the covers, saying him that he should move over and settle in behind him, crashing out soon after.

Simmons grunted to Grifs comment.
"You wanna move over?"
Simmons didn't move for a long time. Just when he felt that Grif would stand up every second now to go back to sleep in his own bunk, the cyborg shifted, making space for the Hawaiian to settle in.

At least something was same old, same old. Grif crashed soon after laying beside Simmons.


Since the accident, Simmons often used to sit alone in the mess hall. Grif was either around the lieutenants or he wouldn't come at all, occupied with Sarges orders.
There was one positive aspect. Due to his chance of character, he lost a lot of weight. He still was bulky, but not fat. He looked good like that.

However, since then, Simmons was alone. He often would sit somewhere, people not daring to get close to him. Even Jensen kept her distance.

Today was one of the days Grif would sit with the lieutenants, the redhead observing him from afar how he would laugh with the young soldiers, obviously enjoying the time together.
Simmons long ago stopped denying that he wasn't jealous. Just now, however, it hurt more than he was jealous. Because the cyborg noticed the strong bond they had before was slowly disappearing, leaving Simmons alone and miserable.

He was no social person. He would most likely be all alone when Grif wasn't around. Honestly, the cyborg wouldn't even be surprised when Grif would move out in some days. They drift apart. Faster and faster with every day passing.

Someone put a tray down beside him. It was Wash. Simmons recognized him, because he had about three apples on his tray.
"He still doesn't remember?" It was a casual question, but it hurt nonetheless.
The redhead only shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the orange armored soldier.

There was a long silence, in which Wash began to eat, Simmons not really being hungry at all, poking at his food.
"This really is bothering you, hm?" Washs voice was gentle, not commanding or high-pitched.

Well, it was obvious that Simmons suffered under Grifs amnesia. He was alone all the time, more introverted since Grey told them that the chances were under 1% that Grif would get his memory back, more silent. He always looked like his mind was somewhere far away, in a better place.

Simmons shrugged. "It shouldn't. Grif is alive and I should be happy."
"Yeah, but he's not the Grif you knew. And obviously you're not really happy with the way he is now."
Again a shrug that should be indifferent, in reality it was only awkward.
Wash sighed, taking one of his apples and start to eat.

"Maybe you should tell him what's bothering you?"
"He doesn't remember, so he could impossibly understand why I am the way I am. So it's better to let it go."
"Even if it means that you perish of this situation here?" Wash didn't look at Simmons, but fixated the back of Grifs head with his steel grey eyes.
Again an indifferent shrug. "Yes, it's probably for the best. He's doing good, so I don't want to be a burden for him." Muttered Simmons, standing up and leaving.

It really was for the better. Grif didn't remember the things Simmons told him. He didn't remember the things Simmons dad did to the redhead. He didn't remember the talks they had. He didn't remember anything.

Better to leave it like that. Even if it meant that Simmons would perish of it at some point.


Merely days later, Simmons was again sitting on the roof of the base watching stars, he heard someone walking up to him.

He didn't bother looking around. The person coming would reveal himself soon enough.

Much to Simmons surprise, Grif sat down beside the cyborg.

"Can't sleep?"

"Nah." The casualty of the answer made Simmons feel like he was talking to the old Grif. But he wasn't.

"Too hot?" Simmons tried to keep his tone conversational and light, not really wanting to let Grif know how he felt.

"You mean the weather or me?"

"Yeah... What!?" immediately Simmons felt his face heat up in an incredible pace, the heat almost burning the tips of his ears.

"You heard it." replied Grif casually. This behavior was more the one of Tucker or Palamo. Not Grifs. That was so fucking strange to hear it that Simmons already forgot to be embarassed about the comment.

"Uh- I mean the weather of course!" someone give him a cookie for not freaking out and make a complete fool out of him.

Grif huffed, observing him with a grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

There was a rather awkward silence settling in, neither of them really saying anything. Simmons would have loved to run the fuck away. Yet he wanted to stay as close as possible to Grif.

"Hey Simmons." Grifs voice pulled Simmons out of his inner debate whether to run or stay. "You don't look healthy man. When have you eaten and slept properly?" Simmons hated it the way Grif was showing his worry.

He had worried about him before, but not this openly. Mostly because Grif had known Simmons so damn good and knew what was bothering him. Often before the redhead knew it.

"I don't feel so well." replied the cyborg after some moments.

"That doesn't answer my question." stated Grif simply. "When did you last eat and sleep properly?"

Simmons looked down to the edge of the base with a caught expression.

"You were pretty lanky before, but now you're almost only skin, bones and metal parts. Let's not begin about those huge ass rings under your eyes."

Simmons still said nothing.

"What is bothering you?" Grif still was this persistent asshole he had been before.

"It's nothing. Like I said. I'm not feeling so well." tried the redhead to brush off Grifs worry. As to be expected, he didn't buy it.

"Bullshit. This has something to do with me, right? That I lost my memory."

"No! It's-" Simmons stopped abruptly as he saw the stern expression on Grifs face.

Shoulders slumping, the cyborg sighed heavily. "Yeah... You're right. You know, we used to know each other pretty well for more than twelve years before this happened. It's hard to get used to. I guess I'm still struggling a bit with that." he showed Grif a watery smile.

The Hawaiian observed him attentively, before saying. "There's also something else." it was a statement, not a question.

The redhead only nodded.

"Yeah, it is… No, it was. It's not important anymore." Replied the redhead, correcting himself.

"It concerned the Grif I had been before." Did Simmons mention that he hated this newly found observatory side of Grif?

Simmons shrugged again, nodding his head a slight little bit.

"Would you tell me?"

This time, he shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't matter anymore. It was about the old Grif. It was gone when he disappeared." Muttered Simmons a bit sad. He felt his eyes sting. God damn it, why did he had to be such a fucking crybaby!?

"So if I would remember, you would tell me?"

"Probably not." Someone give him a cookie for sounding so calm and matter-of-factly. Although the redhead felt like curling up and crying right now. It was pure torture. You're sitting beside your crush, but it's only the body that is still the same (Almost). The rest of the person Grif was disappeared.

"Aw, come on! Why not?" pouted said Hawaiian, looking at Simmons with his impossible baby blue eyes. The old Grif had known how to use his puppy dog eyes to make Simmons promise or tell him everything he wanted. New Grif wasn't that experienced in giving Simmons this look.

The cyborg sighed. "You know that the chances to remember are practically null. So why bothering about wanting to know a secret, which was about your former self?" It sounded idiotic, but like the only reason this Grif would accept.

At least Simmons hoped that.

"So if the chances of me to remember are so low, the chances of you not needing to tell me your secret are pretty high. So why not promise that?" Grif didn't accept Simmons explanation. However, Grifs explanation sounded pretty logical for coming from Grif.

Again, Simmons sighed defeated. There was no avail. Grif had a thick head. That didn't change with the amnesia. "Okay, promise. I tell you if you maybe would remember fully some when."

Grifs face split into a huge grin. "Neat!" getting up with a low groan, he began pulling Simmons to his feet. The redhead was surprised when he noticed that Grif had gotten that strong.

"Jesus fuck! I already suspected you not doing so well, but being so light isn't really healthy!" exclaimed Grif, looking over the cyborg.

Before Simmons could say something, Grif had grabbed his hand. "Come on, time to get you some food. I don't want you to starve to death like a dog who lost it's master."

Simmons almost laughed about this comparison.

Grif didn't know how close he was to reality. Not about the master, but the starving part.