Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~Extremely one-sided/unhealthy Gene x Simmons
~Potential Sarcus
~Jensen x Palomo, because something cute and fluffy needed to happen darn it! XD
~Bitthews, for pretty much the same reasoning. XD
Other Notes for This Story:
~One flashback of Simmons' time in captivity and all of the inherent unpleasantness/uncomfortableness that contains.
~Oh, look, I actually manage to write some absolutely consensual and healing physical intimacy in this part! Yay!
~Understandably, there's still quite a bit of angst and drama, but there's also quite a bit of my horrible attempts at humor and fluff wherever I could sneak them in too. You've been warned! XD
~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 3
Once, when Richard "Dick" Simmons was a young boy, he snuck into his parents' bedroom to stare at himself in the large mirror they had in there.
The mirror was a rather intimidating piece of antique furniture that clashed with every other meticulously picked out piece in the room. It had been something of an heirloom, an inheritance from grandparents that Simmons hadn't even known he had until the sudden announcement of their passing reached his ears.
His father was always quick to discuss their proud lineage of military accomplishments, but he'd been apparently less inclined to discuss the actual people who shared that heritage when it became clear that they didn't mesh with his impossibly high personal standards.
Yet Simmons' father had been rather adamant about retrieving the mirror and enshrining it at their house for the sake of appearance if not for sentimental value. Simmons' mother remained just as adamant in her displeasure over the ghastly furniture, and little Simmons was left to wonder just what his grandparents might have been like.
The whole thing had resulted in his mother refusing to privately speak to his father for several days. Such a display would never fly while out in public, of course, as they had both mastered false smiles and dishonest displays of affection quite well. So, she sipped her three glasses of nightly wine in silent anger and the mirror remained.
Simmons pretended not to notice, praying that neither of his parents would turn their attention his way during their tense standoff. Both were always quick to voice their displeased opinions when it came to him instead in light of their inability to do so with one another, and Simmons didn't appreciate being the target of their ire. His curiosity over the mirror that had caused so much derision had been piqued, however.
The redhead had just gotten another excellent grade on a paper in school that he hoped would somehow make up for his abysmal test scores. He had even felt rather proud because his teacher had praised him for the obvious effort he had put into crafting his essay.
But then the school bullies had cornered him for having pointed out their incorrect spelling of an insult on the bathroom wall, and Simmons was sent home with both another note and a black eye.
Simmons' mother didn't even glance the child's way when he'd shown up for dinner. Pretended not to notice as he mumbled about his already completed homework. His father had cut into his nervous rambling with a customary disappointed tone to his voice as he stated that Simmons still hadn't learned to throw a punch yet, and Simmons had excused himself from the table as quickly as he could just in case the older man decided to once again demonstrate his own personal technique. After all, Simmons already had a shiner.
The boy found himself staring up at his pitiful reflection, and his lips quivered as he felt tears threaten to spill. The redhead absolutely hated his reflection. What good was there in the hopeless person he saw staring back at him?
Neither of his parents bothered to rush into the room to see what the source of the subsequent crashing noise was. When they leisurely made their way in, they saw their son standing encircled by broken glass, his hand bleeding from a myriad collection of new cuts. His parents resigned themselves to their usual disappointment as Simmons tried to fearfully stammer out an explanation.
His mother simply stated that Simmons had best clean the whole thing up, and that it wouldn't do for him to bleed on the rug. His father simply reprimanded him for wearing shoes upstairs in the house, and no one spoke about the damn mirror again.
He had seriously left his horrible home and joined the army just to get stuck here in this totally different kind of hellhole? That's what he used to think back in the crazy, incomprehensible days of Blood Gulch. Back then, frustrated by the sheer amount of insanity all around him as all of his efforts went absolutely fucking nowhere, Simmons' fist found its way through several mirrors.
Donut was dismayed whenever he saw the damage, while Sarge would grumbled about the replacement paperwork that Simmons was always quick to guiltily fill out for him. Lopez would sigh in resignation when it became apparent that he had to put the new mirror in once it arrived.
But Simmons had learned how to better cover his tracks, and no one ever picked up on what was causing the damage. The going theory was that Blue Team had trained raccoons to throw rocks at reflective surfaces, which was both incomprehensible and impossible on so many different levels. But, like fuck if Simmons was going to correct Sarge.
Sometimes, Simmons noticed Grif regarding him not using his injured-but-always-well-concealed hand every so often, but whatever the heavier-set man thought about it, he thankfully didn't say anything. Which Simmons was beyond grateful for. Really. Anyone finding out about that particular display of self-loathing from him was sure to make a really bizarre situation all the more awkward and weird.
But his good fortune on not having been found out yet on account of everyone's ability to place the blame on a bunch of nonexistent, rock-hurling raccoons couldn't possibly last forever.
The last time he had a mirror-punching incident in Blood Gulch, Simmons hadn't been nearly as careful as he should have been. Granted, he was hardly ever in a good state of mind when the incidents occurred. Still, he hadn't expected anyone to be awake at the hour this particular freak-out happened, especially not Grif given how adept the orange-armored soldier was at sleeping in general.
Grif had been standing perfectly still in the now open doorway of Red Team's bathroom, not making a sound. Simmons wouldn't have even noticed the chubby man had been there at all were it not for the fact that he had turned around shakily himself to cautiously glance over his shoulder out of force of habit.
Simmons couldn't stop himself from letting out a stifled gasp in shock at having been found out. His eyes widened considerably, and he probably would have run for it if Grif hadn't been blocking the only exit.
Simmons flinched in awkward, embarrassed shame, his whole body feeling as if it were on fire even as he remained frozen to the tile on the floor. Shards of broken glass surrounded him as blood dripped down his hand.
He expected some kind of shocked reaction in turn, maybe even an angry yell or a patronizing comment at his expense depending on Grif's mood.
The blank, unreadable look that crossed over Grif's face as he took in the scene was even more nerve-wracking than the looks of disgust and disappointment that Simmons' parents had given him. The redhead swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
Grif looked up at his face then, his mismatched eyes boring into Simmons' own without blinking. After what felt like an uncomfortable eternity, the tan-skinned man broke eye contact and stepped out of the room without so much as a word.
A dumbfounded Simmons simply stared after him, convinced that this was it and that Grif was going to tell Sarge and the others how crazy he was.
He did not expect Grif to return just a few minutes later, expression still very much guarded as he motioned for the maroon-wearing man to step closer with a med-kit in his other hand.
"Be careful of the glass." Grif advised a still very shaky Simmons as the cyborg picked his way over the fragments towards him.
They were both sitting on the bathroom floor mere moments later in total silence, Simmons watching as Grif began taking care and bandaging up his injured hand that had settled onto his lap at some point. Simmons had started to protest when Grif had rested it there, tried to pull away because it would get blood on Grif's pants, but Grif had held onto his wrist and glared at him. Grif treated the wounds with a surprising gentleness that Simmons wouldn't have thought possible from him before.
Simmons only winced once throughout the whole thing, when a bit of splintered glass had to be removed from one of his knuckles. Both he and Grif muttered "Sorry." at the exact same time, making eye contact before awkwardly looking away.
Grif didn't acknowledge what Simmons was really apologizing for, and Simmons could only mutely shake his head that Grif didn't have anything to be sorry for then. His voice having abandoned him in this, surprisingly peculiar, horribly awkward, and yet altogether soothing moment.
Thankfully, Grif decided to not make any comments about what he had stumbled onto earlier. The lingering warmth from Grif's touch remained for quite a few moments even after he had finished tending to Simmons' cuts and scrapes. It lasted throughout his helping Simmons with cleaning up the mess too.
"Go get some shoes on." Grif had advised quietly at first, "I really don't want to be bandaging up a foot too."
The whole experience had felt like some bizarre dream, and Grif fortunately chose not to ask why Simmons nearly cried at his words. He didn't say a thing afterwards either, when Simmons had tentatively reached out with his wrapped up hand to grasp Grif's own tenderly for just a moment more.
Both men opted to pretend that the reassuring squeezes they gave the other before parting ways for the night had never happened.
Dexter Grif had never been a huge fan of hospitals. In fact, he had painstakingly tried avoiding them whenever he could growing up even if it always resulted in Kai mumbling about how much of a killjoy he was when she wanted to pull off some crazy stunt that was sure to lead to a broken bone or concussion.
Hospitals, in his eyes, had always represented failure. Usually his, a symbol of his inability to prevent catastrophe from happening. A reminder of how too much had been heaped on his shoulders at too young an age.
Hospital visits meant well-intentioned but nosy nurses and doctors asking questions about whether he or Kai had an adult caretaker with them they could talk to. Led to questions about why their clothes were so threadbare or just why they hadn't been at school that day or the previous one before it, about how there was still the matter of paperwork to fill out and just who was going to be billed for this visit.
Later, hospital trips meant that someone had gotten hurt or killed out on the field. They meant awkward visits or messages of condolences to way too young soldiers who had just lost a teammate equally way too much of a kid to be out in a firefight, of Simmons calling him a dumbass and both pretending they weren't holding the other's hand underneath blankets because they could have not seen the other again while the rest of the colorful idiots gathered around them pretended not to notice.
They meant feeling things he felt he didn't deserve to dwell on, on how he just wasn't good enough for that happiness he fucking craved.
The hospital room that Dexter Grif found himself in ever since Locus had dropped them back off on Chorus was sterile and cold. It reminded Grif so fucking much of why he hated hospitals. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to just up and leave either.
…Because Simmons was lying in a hospital bed, and Grif was terrified of what would happen if he left the redhead. As if Simmons would somehow just magically up and vanish if he so much as went to the bathroom, as if the cyborg hadn't been lying in an unconscious state ever since the rescue.
Simmons' eyebrow furrowed slightly in his sleep, his mouth opened slightly with an exhale of air. Grif hoped he was at least having a good dream, but a part of him doubted that was the case given the torture room and condition they had found Simmons in. Grif hated himself more for even acknowledging that.
His desire to stay as close to the dozing cyborg as possible was the only reason he hadn't joined Locus, Tucker, and Sarge in dropping that asshole Gene back into UNSC custody. Granted, Locus had pretty accurately surmised that Gene probably wouldn't have survived the trip if Grif had joined them, especially once Gene had recovered enough from Simmons' amazing and unexpected throat blow to smile crazily at the pair and remark on how he supposed he had at least ruined things in a way no one was sure to forget.
Honestly, him joining his murderous cohorts in jail felt like a copout, but Grif supposed Locus was right about justice needing to be properly meted out. Carolina's words against revenge-killing had stuck in his head long enough to keep him from doing something stupid.
The most important thing to focus on now was that Simmons had been found. The maroon-wearing soldier was back on Chorus, he was being looked over and things could go back to…
Grif's rambling thoughts trailed off as a heavy weight of something painful and indescribable settled in the pit of his still empty stomach. Was there any fucking way things would be all right again after all of this?
He looked down at Simmons' still sleeping form, ignoring the pain in his back and shoulders from his hunched over posture.
Doctor Grey had said that Simmons remaining unconscious was most likely a defense mechanism due to all the stress he had been under thanks to his confinement and obviously weakened, feverish state. She said trying to force him to wake up at this point while his body was attempting to recuperate would only make things worse.
Grif could imagine what those days of captivity had been like after seeing the dead colony, of the "home" that Gene had been keeping Simmons a prisoner in. Flashes of memories he would rather not recall came unbidden at the sight. That fucked-up room had haunted his waking hours ever since. It beat against his eyelids whenever he closed them.
Grif could imagine, could picture what Simmons had gone through in there, even as he fervently wished he couldn't. He wanted desperately for there to be something he could do or say to make Simmons forget all of it too.
He had seen some of what Gene had done to Simmons, and had wanted to kill the asshole for it then and there. Yet he had somehow managed to fuck that up and Simmons had ended up getting even more messed up on account of him being good-for-nothing hate glue. Grif had seen the various tools and equipment, the restraints. He had overheard the hushed snippets of speculative conversation on the subject when the others didn't think he was listening.
He had seen the myriad collection of marks that now decorated Simmons' body. It had been hard not to, given his unfortunate state of undress when they had finally found the redhead. He saw the cuff marks from Simmons' limbs and neck being bound so often, the telltale needle scar on his arm. Distinctive bruising, cuts, and burns that were starting to scar on freckled skin, the…
Bile rose in the back of his throat once more at the thought of what Gene had been doing to Simmons all that time. At just what Doctor Grey had theorized he had most likely been planning to do all along, at what Grif had seen when he had rushed down there that seemed to confirm her theory and…
He wiped at eyes that were once more very much burning, reaching out to grab Simmons' now repaired cybernetic hand in his grip. His flesh-and-blood arm was still in its brace. Grif gave the cybernetic hand a squeeze to reassure himself that Simmons was still very much there.
"Sorry." Grif muttered hoarsely under his breath for what was most likely the hundredth time that day. It felt just as painfully inadequate as the last time he had said it, seeing Simmons like this…
He couldn't help but wonder if the redhead would hate him when he finally came to. Because Grif had once again not been there when something truly terrible happened and someone he cared for had gotten hurt once more as a result. Because Grif had made things fucking worse by rushing in without a plan and Simmons had ended up with a broken arm on top of everything else.
Because Grif apparently only ever fucking took and was completely incapable of giving, doing, or saying enough back when it really mattered, even if he could have very easily lost Simmons all over again and that thought alone terrified him shitless.
When Doctor Grey finally decided to kick him out on the grounds that he didn't want to make Simmons feel worse by seeing him in so pitiful a state, he went to the Reds and Blues' temporary accommodations on Chorus and crashed in Simmons' room again.
Man, he couldn't even fucking worry correctly, apparently.
None of the others chose to comment on Grif's actions, nor on how Grif pointedly seemed to visit the hospital again once Simmons had started to wake up only when his teammate was reportedly fast asleep.
Grif figured keeping his distance for the time being was maybe for the best, even if his whole being was screaming just the opposite. He'd be damned if he would make things worse for Simmons. He just wanted the fucking nerd to be okay.
Gene had just finished up with the altogether humiliating task of feeding his prisoner, Simmons once again fighting down the urge to recoil and vomit as he felt the other man's hand patting his stomach as he told the redhead cheerfully about the latest recipe he had used from Cronut's organic cook books.
After he cleared away the plate, Gene checked Simmons' body for sores due to having been stationary for so long. He pushed the redhead's body forward somewhat in order to inspect his back more closely. Despite the sweltering heat, Simmons shivered as Gene's fingers ghosted over his sweat-covered skin.
Simmons had been chained against the back wall as per Gene's preference, and the brown-haired Sim Trooper took the opportunity this provided to glance over at their reflections in the mirror. He tilted Simmons' turned away head so that the cyborg had no choice but to do so as well.
"If I ever happened to get bored here and decided to take a trip to Chorus in your armor," Gene mused out loud, fingers both lingering on and digging into Simmons' chin, "Do you think anyone would even notice?"
Simmons' full gut began twisting again as a result of the direction the conversation seemed to be going, "Of—of course they would!" He stammered out, horrified.
Not to mention, Simmons had been gone for how long, exactly, now? Questions were sure to arise about someone suddenly showing up in his armor after who-really-knew-how-long.
"Really?" The asshole had the audacity to raise an eyebrow, "Because Tucker and your other buddies never seemed to be able to tell us apart even when I had the blue visor on to make it easier."
Simmons fell silent. Gene wasn't lying, now that he thought about it. He had been rather annoyed and frustrated by that himself considering how different he felt he and this jerk actually were.
"Considering how Buckey could tell us apart even," Gene continued in the wake of Simmons' troubled silence, "That was just fucking sad."
He grinned, tipping Simmons' face towards the mirror again since his fingers had gone lax during his ramble and had given Simmons the chance to pull back and avert his gaze as best he could. The redhead winced at the sensation of pinched flesh that accompanied the action of his face being maneuvered against his will.
"So long as I stay in the armor, it should be a perfect reflection." Gene noted as he forced Simmons to look back at his gloating visage and his own pathetically helpless one staring back at them.
"Th—they'd figure it out eventually." Simmons finally got out through the squeezing pressure on his face, "You'd fucking slip up, and then someone would…"
He trailed off, suddenly very certain that he did not want to finish the sentence out loud, let alone even think it. He wouldn't let Gene goad him into thinking about the others, didn't want to find them somehow tainted by even being brought up in such a place.
Gene finally let go of his face to readdress the task of looking over his back, and the pleasant smile he had been wearing at having successfully taunted Simmons once more faltered and turned into a momentary frown, "You're referring to that fat-ass Grif, right?" he asked in a dangerously deceptive, light tone.
Simmons remained steadfastly silent, but that silence was just as damning and outright confirming as answering honestly probably would have been. Gene's hands on his back suddenly stilled, and Simmons tried not to flinch and recoil at them remaining frozenly insufferable against his bare flesh.
"I suppose he could be more of a problem, given all of your bullshit conversations together," and Simmons had to suppress the urge to protest about how none of their talks together could ever be considered bullshit to him even if they weren't the most productive ones out there, "But that just means I'd have to kill him quickly once I got there to get him out of the way, right?"
Gene leaned down again to whisper bemusedly in Simmons' ear like he always seemed to enjoy doing just to torment him further, "If he hasn't given up on you for being such an absent flake and disappointment yet, that is."
Simmons shuddered, and he found he had no voice left to respond with. The last scenario that Gene had given him was horrible enough and something that terrified him every day. If Grif saw how worthless he truly was, then there was no fucking way he would even want to remain friends with him let alone whatever the fuck they were now. The idea of Gene tricking his friends and murdering Grif was just…
"D—don't…" Simmons finally got out in a much weaker voice than he would like, and he felt ashamed once more that all he could do at this point was beg.
Gene shushed him as he reached over to the syringe he had prepared earlier, apparently having decided that Simmons had stayed in that position long enough. He forced Simmons to stare at their joint reflections once more, his human eye watering up as the other man brought the needle to the pinprick scar on Simmons' trembling arm.
"It was just an idea I'd been mulling over, Simmons. You shouldn't worry." Gene informed him in a patronizingly gentle tone after he had finished with the injection.
One of his hands came to rest on the top of Simmons' head, his fingers playing rather roughly with the coppery strands there as they both waited for the drugs to take effect, "So long as taking care of you keeps me busy here, all of your little dumbass friends are perfectly safe to live out the rest of their pointless lives without us."
Simmons woke up with a start once more, his entire body seizing up in panic before his mind was finally able to register that he was still in the hospital room on Chorus.
"Whoa there!" Doc's surprised voice came from off to the side, and the redhead turned to glance at the purple medic who had apparently been startled from his staring out of the window, "I didn't expect you'd be up again so soon, fella."
…Right. Doc had accompanied Carolina, Kai, and both of Grif's lieutenants Matthews and Bitters on a visit here earlier. Simmons had gotten sleepy and so the others had excused themselves to let him rest.
But if Doc was still here, then…
The medic rubbed the back of his brown head of hair sheepishly, letting out a slight laugh, "I don't think they remembered that I had gone to use the bathroom." Doc explained.
Simmons' face flushed, feeling both sorry for Doc since he had come to visit him too and for having startled the other man before, "S—sorry." He murmured with a still rather hoarse voice, "I—"
"Hey, it's all right! I'm used to it by now, and it's actually gotten better, believe it or not. They'll probably even say sorry for it the next time I see them." Doc smiled reassuringly down at him before a gentle, considering sort of look crossed over his face, "Though speaking of that, you've been apologizing a lot since you came back, you know."
Simmons felt his face heat up at the statement, "I—I know." He muttered, looking down at his cybernetic hand resting on top of the bedsheet and trying not to think about his other arm itching any in its snug brace (although once he got that thought in his head it was impossible to stop), "But…"
He trailed off, closing his eyes. He felt like he had so much to apologize for, and that he would never be able to do so enough. Putting everyone through what he had, on account of his own ineptitude and…
"It's okay, Simmons." Doc moved to sit down on one of the chairs gathered messily around his bedside, "There's nothing you need to apologize for."
"B—but…" Simmons trailed off, resisting the burning sensation in his green eye as he forced a shaky smile onto his face, "Thanks, Doc."
It was weird to say, and he still felt like he had done something wrong, but he felt like he should try to repay the thoughtful gestures of his friends all the same even if he woefully sucked at it.
Doc blinked in surprise at the comment, and then he smiled brightly, "No problem."
Simmons' eyes glanced over to the empty chair that was always the closest to him, the one that everyone had declared belonged to Grif despite his having never sat in it while Simmons was awake. The cyborg turned back to Doc's patient gaze and wracked his brain to come up with something else to say that wouldn't be too terribly awkward.
He was saved from having to do so for the moment by Doctor Grey entering, a knowing look on her face as she took in the scene before her, especially the still very much displaced and ruffled up bedding all around her patient.
"Bad dream?" Grey asked gently, and Simmons could only nod mutely in response.
Doc got up to pour him a glass of water from a nearby pitcher after offering another friendly smile and pat on the shoulder. Simmons had only learned to not flinch at the sight of the pitcher once he began to calm his mind down with the realization that no one was going to force the liquid down his throat and he could choose when and how much he drank from actual cups again.
Simmons listened to Doctor Grey's soothing tone as she tried once again to bring up the topic of starting therapy sessions sometime soon until he drifted off back to sleep.
Grif's teeth were grinding painfully against one another in his mouth as he reacted to what he had just heard. His back arched uncomfortably in his seat and his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides. He felt the worrying gazes of both Dylan and Tucker on his person just then, but he wasn't really in the mood to acknowledge them.
"What the fuck do you mean that the UNSC wants to keep all the details about the Blues and Reds under wraps?" Grif somehow managed to get out in a dangerously low growl.
The dark-skinned woman sitting across from the three of them at her presidential desk let out a small sigh, seemingly nonplussed at the anger being thrown her way. Vanessa Kimball had met with a lot of disgruntled people in her lifetime so far, and she had no doubt learned to tell when the displeasure wasn't really directed towards her.
"It means exactly what it sounds like it does." Kimball explained coolly, though an apologetic glimmer flashed through her dark eyes all the same, "There are evidently several classified cases against the group, and they do not wish to reveal much about their investigations into them pending trial."
"You're fucking kidding me." Tucker intoned incredulously from his spot next to Grif, "Even after everything those murderous assholes did?"
"It's unfortunately par the course for lengthier UNSC investigations." Dylan, who had been silent up until then, explained with a soft sigh of her own, "Beyond having your names cleared, this is the best we can hope for."
Which was all well and good, but…
"Even that asshole Gene?" Grif practically spat out.
The two women both looked at one another, Dylan being the one to reluctantly nod after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.
Grif glared at a spot over Kimball's head, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands enough to draw blood, "Then we should have brought his worthless ass back to Chorus."
Not knowing how that fucker was going to be punished after what he had put Simmons, put all of them through, was infuriating.
"Yes," Kimball agreed quietly after a few tense moments of silence had passed by in her office, "That would have been the best course of action instead of dropping him off at the UNSC's doorstep if you had wanted to know what his fate would be." Her tone was quite serious as she added rather knowingly, "You would have had to explain just how you had gotten the ship to track him down though."
Grif and Tucker both glanced at one another rather nervously. They had kept quiet on Locus' involvement in order to not only protect their new reluctant ally, but to avoid upsetting Kimball and the other citizens of Chorus who would no doubt still be understandably upset with the guy, currently reformed or not.
"Uh, no comment." The dark-skinned man in teal finally muttered.
Kimball rolled her eyes at the altogether painfully obvious deflection by Tucker, "You're going to have to talk about it eventually, you know." She stated pointedly.
Grif looked away as Tucker pretended to whistle loudly. Kimball shot him an unreadable look, and for a moment Grif suspected that she already fucking knew about Locus' involvement. It wouldn't be a shock, given her partnership with Santa. She probably just wasn't pressing the matter on account of not being sure how she felt about it all yet. He could understand her conflicted feelings.
Not that Grif really cared either way as he understood both sides of the matter. So long as no one tried killing the other, they were free to think and feel however they wanted. It was a good philosophy to hold in general.
"So," Grif finally said at length to cut off Tucker's over the top antics and to get himself the fuck out of the meeting following that last bit of disappointing news, "Is that fucking it then?"
"No, it isn't." Kimball admitted as she relaxed in her seat and her usually hardened expression softened to one of genuine concern, "How has Captain Simmons been doing? I feel awful that I haven't had the chance yet to visit with him for too long, but I've heard from Doctor Grey that he's about to get the all-clear to leave the hospital."
Grif's stomach dropped at the unintentional reminder of his own lack of visits to the nerd's bedside recently, and he looked down at the ground with a frown forming on his face. He pointedly ignored Dylan's questioning gaze his way, praying that the journalist wouldn't comment on it.
Tucker cleared his throat to get everyone's attention focused on him, "You heard right." He informed Kimball, "And you should totally go and visit him at the residence later. I bet he'd appreciate it."
…Or have a major freak-out over the president of an entire fucking planet taking time out of her busy schedule just to personally see how he was doing, Grif thought wryly, unable to prevent the corners of his mouth from curving upwards slightly at the imagined scene. Either way, odds were good that the cyborg would be so touched by the gesture that he would probably start crying much to his own embarrassment.
Kimball smiled softly at the suggestion, giving a slight nod of her head, "I'd like to." She stated sincerely, "It's wonderful that he's been recovering so well."
The "even though there is still understandably a long ways to go" was heavily implied all the same in the stifling, awkward silence that followed her remark.
Grif clenched his fists even tighter, trying to ignore the growing sense of guilt, regret, and fear that was building up inside of him. The anger at himself and others was always so much easier to fixate on instead.
"I gotta go." was all he said as he stood up and marched woodenly out of the room, ignoring the bewildered looks thrown his way.
There were no mirrors in the hospital room he was currently resting in.
Simmons was grateful for that as he looked around once more before focusing on his current guests. He had a sneaking suspicion that was Doctor Grey's doing after he had mumbled something about reflections in a sleep-tinged delirium.
He knew he wasn't going to be able to avoid such things forever, but not having to dwell on them for at least a little while longer helped him remain more at ease for the moment if nothing else.
Seeing everyone again had been excruciatingly hard at first, as Simmons at times had honestly thought he was still dreaming the whole rescue had even happened. For a time, he found himself battling a keen, unwavering sense of shame and dread at their visiting him at all, as if he wasn't worthy of their concern or effort, as though he would somehow pollute them or they would confirm just how pathetic he was with one dismissive glance.
He still battled with that sometimes, though he always felt immensely relieved and touched by their continued visits and attempts to cheer him up.
Like right now, when the engaged young couple of Katie Jensen and Charles Palomo had stopped by to see him.
Palomo had visited separately before with Tucker and Washington, and Jensen had been by at least three times prior with Volleyball and the rest of Maroon Team, but apparently Jensen thought it was important to visit again once they had gotten footage from the bridal shower and bachelor party back from Jax's extensive editing. Jax had indeed taken out any film evidence of Carolina's change of shoes, which Simmons couldn't help but smile somewhat at.
While the shower had ended disastrously for Simmons due to his abduction, seeing himself from earlier that day as well as so many of his friends and allies enjoying themselves was a lovely thought all the same.
Jensen and Palomo were sitting closely together side-by-side next to Simmons' bed, peering over his shoulder as the video played out on the pad resting on his lap. Every so often, Jensen would pause it to explain what was happening at a given point, Palomo interjecting at parts she wasn't as familiar with.
The excited, happy tones they both used and the fond smiles they cast one another's way had Simmons smiling slightly too, and he was happy to indulge their storytelling endeavors by asking questions or remarking on something, such as Palomo fleeing from his own party for a moment in outright terror following Donut's combined "the talk" and lap dance routine, a scene that amused Jensen to no end while a blushing, wobbly-voiced Palomo weakly laughed and said it was good he could smile about it at all now even though it still terrified him.
After a few moments, Simmons thought of something and frowned, "How did Jax manage to be at two places at once?" He asked.
If he was remembering things correctly, hadn't both events been at roughly the same time?
"Oh, he wasn't!" Palomo informed him cheerfully, "He somehow found out that Matthews had kept a video blog at some point, so he conned him into filming mine."
"Half of the footage he had to edit out because it was just of Bitters rolling his eyes and giving everyone the finger." Jensen told the redhead matter-of-factly.
"Which, in hindsight, he probably should have seen coming because that was pretty much exactly what Matthews' blog consisted of." Palomo continued, "It wasn't incredibly popular."
Simmons smiled as it was all too easy to envision. No one found the angry Bitters quite as fascinating as Matthews did.
Jensen's cheerful expression faltered a moment later, however, as she glanced down at the video pad and then at her hands. Her voice was rather watery when she spoke up again, not looking at either Simmons or Palomo, "Sir, I—I'm really sorry that I didn't realize you were missing until later!" She blurted out quickly, tan face flushed and brown eyes looking rather teary.
Simmons wondered how long she had been keeping that bottled up, his symbolic heart-gear going out to the young brunette as he felt a spike of guilt at her being so upset on his behalf.
Palomo frowned as he reached out and pulled his fiancée close against his own shoulder, a notable look of regret on his usually carefree features too, "Yeah, and I'm just…I'm just really sorry that I had convinced her it was probably due to bathroom issues at first."
Now a tidal wave of guilt washed over Simmons at the sudden, unexpected onslaught of apologies from the couple. Both of them should be happy and preparing for what was supposed to be the best day of their still quite young lives, and yet here they were wasting time feeling miserable on his behalf instead.
He did seem to have a gift for ruining things, huh?
Simmons forced himself to give them both an encouraging and sincere smile, "I'm just grateful that what happened didn't end up ruining the events themselves then." The two younger lieutenants-turned-police-officers glanced over at him doubtfully, but he continued before they could try and protest with a regretful look of his own crossing over his features, "I'm really sorry that you had to postpone the wedding due to the search."
"You…you really shouldn't be, Captain Simmons, sir!" Jensen stated quite emphatically, leaning forward to grab his metallic hand in a reassuring grip, "Getting married wouldn't have felt right with you being missing!"
"Yeah!" Palomo was quick to chime in with an earnest nod of his head, "Not to mention that we had totally staged the bouquet toss for you and Captain Grif!"
Simmons quickly alternated between blushing due to how touched he was at the pair's declarations and his brain breaking at Palomo's abrupt reveal, "Wh—what?" He murmured out loud.
Jensen shot the dark-skinned young man a rather pointed look that he in turn smiled sheepishly at before she turned to smile back at Simmons, "We're really glad to have you back, sir. Honest!"
Simmons felt his green eye starting to tear up at such a genuine admission he was still more than halfway convinced he probably didn't deserve, "I'm just relieved that you're still getting the chance." He muttered, remembering Gene's threat about the wedding and being unable to suppress a shudder at the particularly unpleasant memory.
The two glanced at one another curiously, but given the troubled grimace that momentarily clouded Simmons' features they apparently decided to not pry any further. Simmons was immensely thankful for that.
A hesitant Palomo cleared his throat after a few minutes and raised his hand in the air as if asking a question in school, "Um, sir? How come Captain Grif isn't here with you?"
"Charlie!" Jensen admonished in a low tone.
"But he hadn't left the hospital even once when they brought him in!" Palomo didn't quite catch on to Jensen's warning, and so the befuddled young man chose to evidently dig his grave deeper.
Jensen glanced nervously over at her former captain, the admission catching him completely off-guard and leaving his mind rather blank. He hadn't seen Grif at all since he had woken up at the hospital, even though apparently he had been there before so much that the other Reds and Blues had reserved a seat for him right at Simmons' bedside.
His stricken expression must have shown on his face because Palomo blanched, "S—sorry!"
Simmons shook his head to reassure the teal-trimmed young man that he hadn't done anything wrong, "Grif's always hated hospitals, so he probably just didn't want to be in one any longer than necessary." He said shakily, "S—so…"
The two lieutenants shared a concerned look at one another over their shoulders, and Simmons gave a watery smile at the sight. They really were a good match together, and he hated that he had worried them.
"Sorry." Simmons mumbled again, his apologies feeling wholly inadequate still.
Palomo offered a nervous smile back, and Jensen reached over to place a comforting grip on Simmons' shoulder as he tried to sniffle discretely.
Simmons was sitting nervously in the wheelchair that Doctor Grey insisted he remain in until out of the hospital ("Sorry, but rules are rules!"), waiting for the others to come pick him up.
He squirmed and fidgeted uncomfortably in the civilian clothes that Donut and Doc had brought over for him, the two having somehow managed to keep their shocked exclamations soft at the time when he had asked why everything had to match for his sake, finding it rather bizarre to be fully clothed again.
He would rather not dwell on the forced nakedness that Gene had made him endure, or how embarrassingly slow getting used to even the hospital gown afterwards had been.
While he was in several respects rather glad that he was finally going to be able to go outside again, that he would be able to move around as much as he wanted and observe people being well and alive in a rebuilding, thriving environment, a part of Simmons was absolutely fucking terrified about what he would experience out there too. The looks of pity he would probably receive, the looks of disgust…
Maybe Grif had realized just how much of a messed-up bullet he had managed to dodge through this whole experience, and that was why the orange-armored soldier was reluctant to see him now. Simmons couldn't blame him if that were the case, and he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath as Gene's taunting remarks about how maybe everything between Grif and Simmons had always mattered more to the redhead than to Grif came rushing back…
"Simmons."
He started at the gruff voice that spoke up directly in front of him then, nearly jumping out of his seat at the intimidating sight of a fully armored Locus.
Locus raised a hand up in what appeared to be an attempt at a calming gesture even as it was clear he wasn't used to it, taking a small step forward as he did so, "Are you all right?" He asked the cyborg.
Simmons relaxed a fraction, though all the gears and organs in his chest were doing double-time on account of the surprise. He tried to play it cool, though he failed miserably at it, "I…I'm okay." He somehow managed to get out, blushing slightly as he remembered when he had last seen the former mercenary, "Th—thank you for the save."
His sentiment in that regard was more than he could ever hope to put into words, so it ended up feeling ridiculously hollow and inadequate. Still though, Locus didn't seem to mind.
"I'll be staying on Chorus for a few days at Sarge's…" Locus seemed to ponder over his next word extremely carefully, "Surprising insistence that I do so to remain on the 'downlow.'" Locus was probably making a face underneath his helmet in regards to that particular word choice, "I didn't want to surprise you by appearing unexpectedly in the building once you returned."
Despite his nervousness still around the former mass murderer, Simmons couldn't help but raise a perplexed eyebrow at Locus' statement, "How is showing up unexpectedly in the hospital any better, exactly?"
The towering man in steel and green armor actually fidgeted and awkwardly coughed in response to his query, apparently having not thought of that himself until just then, "I asked Doctor Grey to allow me to speak to you privately here before you were discharged." He admitted quickly to cover up his embarrassment, "She wasn't exactly thrilled by my request, but she agreed."
Simmons frowned, confused as to just why Locus would want to talk to him of all people privately.
Locus stared at him evenly from within the confines of his helmet, not wasting a moment, "I destroyed the footage."
His brain froze at the flat admission from the other man.
Simmons swallowed dryly, his mind suddenly racing back to that horrible, fucked-up place and Gene smugly telling him all about the surveillance feed. He was going to be sick.
Locus regarded the color draining from the flesh and blood portion of his face before he carefully chose his next words, "You knew that he had been filming you."
Simmons shakily nodded, finding it hard to breathe at the moment, "He…he told me." He finally managed to get out as he fought down the bile that threatened to come up the more he spoke about it, "S—said he would send it out, that—"
…That once everyone saw what he had been reduced to, no one would ever want to find him. He closed his eyes and shuddered.
"Well, he didn't." Locus told him rather emphatically in way of assurance as he looked away from the still panicking Simmons rather tensely, "I thought that I should let you know."
"Th—thank you." Simmons' mind quickly jumped from immense gratitude at the unexpected attempt at kindness from the reformed mercenary to another horribly distressing thought and he looked up at Locus with rather wild, terrified eyes, "The others…d—do they know?" He asked him with looming trepidation, "Grif…Grif was there and…!"
Simmons trailed off helplessly, slumping in the wheelchair.
If Grif had seen everything, no wonder he hadn't come by to see him. His still human eye burned at the thought, and he felt the panic rise up the more he pondered that scenario.
"I don't believe so." Locus said at length, "Grif was so focused on the element of surprise in order to get to you that I doubt he took much notice of the equipment then."
Simmons felt immensely relieved, his whole body falling back even further against the wheelchair. Thank fuck he had put the brakes on the thing beforehand.
"But he is surprisingly observant." The former mercenary spoke up again, his tone soft and hesitant as if he knew he was about to deliver some very unpleasant news, "Given your condition, I suspect Grif and the others are more than capable of piecing together what happened."
Dread hit him all at once again. He knew the truth behind Locus' words all too well. He had seen it lingering in their expressions when people thought he wasn't looking, heard it in hitched or whispered voices.
That was probably why Grif didn't want to see him too.
He wasn't sure when his entire body first became wrecked with shuddering sobs, wasn't aware at all of Locus awkwardly and rather hesitatingly placing a consoling hand on his shoulder as if afraid in trying to comfort the redhead he might somehow ultimately make things worse. The gesture was a kind one though.
"I thought you said you wanted to talk to my patient this way to somehow lessen upsetting him!" Doctor Emily Grey exclaimed rather protectively a second later as she burst onto the scene.
Despite how upset he still was, Simmons couldn't help but feel a small tinge of amusement even through his tears at just how quickly the smaller woman who held a non-combative role made Locus jump as if a Mantis was going to fire at him. He knew he would never be able to thank them enough for trying to help.
Grif played around with the food on his plate, pushing the calorie-heavy, grease-laden offerings to one side and then the other. He hadn't spoken so much as a word since he had caught his two lieutenants leaving their shared apartment together, asking Bitters and Matthews if they wanted to check out this restaurant he had been hearing a shit-ton of praise about if he paid for all of their meals.
Their residence was close to their place of work at the police station and a bunch of restaurants, not that Bitters would ever admit that was the reason he had picked it out. Matthews had seemed ecstatic at the offer from the former captain he still adored, while Bitters had looked dubious. But, their limited food budgets had left little room for debate on the matter of free grub.
Upon arriving at the restaurant, Grif had fallen sullen and silent. He couldn't help but remember that, after the maroon-wearing man had read reviews for the restaurant on a tourist site, Simmons had been the one to recommend it on account of Grif's fondness for all things fried. It was still hard to believe Chorus had a tourist site, but maybe people enjoyed former war zones for vacation.
Remembering Simmons' recommendation caused Grif to also remember that he had come up with this brilliant "stuffing himself senseless" plan because he was still being an avoidant asshole scared shitless of seeing Simmons after his hospital release.
It was bad enough that he hadn't worked up the nerve so see the kiss-ass conscious. How could he justify running into him again after all of that?
If there was one thing both Grif and Simmons excelled at, it was avoiding coming face-to-face with their issues until the last possible moment. He used to be rather proud of that skill, but now? Now he absolutely fucking hated it.
"Um, Captain Grif, sir?" Matthews' tentative, customary suck-up voice spoke up just then, "Is everything okay?"
At first, the orange-armored soldier thought he could simply ignore the yellow-trimmed young man, but then Bitters interjected his own thoughts into the unexpected conversation: "Yeah, you're not stuffing your face and it's kind of freaking us the fuck out."
Ah, the customary insult wrapped around concern. Bitters never strayed too far from his maverick ways.
Just as Matthews turned to lightly reprimand his teammate for that in his true junior kiss-ass fashion, an all-too familiar voice cut into their dialogue, "Oh, that's just because Dex is being a big baby and doesn't want to be there when the gray nerd gets home."
Grif glared up at Kaikaina Grif, his little sister remaining far from impressed by the gesture as she stared him down with hands on her hips, "Shove it, Kai."
She stuck her tongue out before plopping down heavily in the booth seat next to his two bewildered lieutenants, "Make me, bitch."
"Wait a minute. Captain Simmons is being discharged today?" Matthews asked, looking shocked at the news, "But I haven't finished getting everyone to sign his Get Well card yet!"
"Relax," Bitters sighed as he grabbed Matthews' arm reassuringly, "We'll just send it to the Reds and Blues' place later."
The auburn-haired young man smiled thankfully at Bitters' gesture before fixing quite a regretful look over at Grif, "I'm so sorry we kept you from being there, sir!" He wailed out apologetically.
"Er…" Grif fidgeted in the side of the booth that he had commandeered all for himself. Normally, he would be all for someone else taking the blame for his actions, but now he just felt annoying guilt about it.
Guilt that intensified when Bitters rolled his eyes, "Matthews, he invited us out first, remember? Even though he probably knew about the whole discharge thing already." The dark-skinned lieutenant threw an incredulous look Grif's way just as Matthews shot him a rather curious one, the "What the fuck are you doing?" readily apparent in Bitters' regard of his former captain.
It was quite similar to the one that Kai was still throwing his way, "You know I'm right, Dex." She pointedly said, no longer hiding her anger.
Grif frowned but didn't respond verbally to her comment. It wasn't like he could actually deny what she said since his little sister was scarily observant whenever she wanted to be, and that was usually whenever it was wholly inconvenient for him.
Kai's hardened, annoyed expression softened to concern at the obvious signs of regret and stress she probably saw marring her brother's dual-toned facial features. She reached over to gently grasp his fork-holding hand in her own, the pale skin from the appendage that had once belonged to Simmons contrasting greatly with her own tanned skin.
"What happened was beyond fucked up, but it wasn't your fault, you dumbass," Kai quietly informed him, "And trying to avoid the nerd hasn't been doing either of you any favors."
The perpetual frown that had been on Grif's face for way longer than he liked to think on only deepened as he wondered just when it was that his party-crazy sibling had gone all fortune cookie level wise on his ass. The chubby man knew she was right, even if that notion still scared him shitless.
But still, what had happened to Simmons scared him shitless too. What if he wasn't strong enough to truly help the redhead? What if he just somehow made things worse like he always did? He didn't want Simmons to get hurt ever again. He couldn't…!
As if sensing Grif's thoughts reaching a panicked crescendo in his skull, Kai gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled warmly before letting go. Just like he had done for her when they had been little and something had gotten her upset.
Then, she promptly turned to his two lieutenants and smirked knowingly at them, "Come on! You dweebs know I'm right or what, huh?"
Matthews and Bitters glanced cautiously from Kai to Grif and then back towards one another, both men quick to counter with a rushed "No comment!" before they made a hasty retreat from the suddenly very emotional scene.
Grif had never been as proud of them as he was in that fucking moment.
Andersmith and Caboose carried the overnight supplies that Simmons would need into Donut's bedroom. The cyborg kept trying to explain that he was perfectly capable of bringing his things there himself to deaf ears.
Even an over-preparer like Simmons thought that they had gone a little overkill in packing what they considered the essentials, such as the teddy bear that Caboose had given him once as a "sorry for nearly shooting you" gift while they had been out training their squads. Simmons was still not sure where "Cuddles" had come from, but he never had the heart to throw the tie-dye plush away since Caboose loved seeing it on his desk whenever he visited.
"Nonsense, sir!" Andersmith stated cheerfully when Simmons attempted to protest a fifth time, "I'm happy to help since Captain Caboose invited me."
"Yes," Caboose intoned seriously as he dropped the duffle bag he'd been carrying onto the massive mound of blankets and pillows on the floor, "Smith is good company. Plus, he builds the best campfires!"
Lopez, from his trying to be as small and inconspicuous as possible spot in the corner of the room, let out what was probably the most dramatic sigh a robot could make.
"Conseguiré el extintor más tarde." {"I'll get the fire extinguisher later."}
"Thank you, sir!" Andersmith beamed proudly at the praise, "It is an honor to see one of your team bonding exercises up close!"
Both Simmons and Lopez looked at one another incredulously as Caboose sagely nodded, "Yes, sleepovers are important things for friends to do." He lowered his voice a second later to add, "They do not just happen because Doc and Freckles say I snore."
Right. Doc had tried politely mentioning that Caboose snored when discussing his temporary roommate situation once before while visiting at the hospital. Truth be told, it was more bizarre to find out that Freckles evidently had a nightly routine that was also disturbed by the blond's snoring. He imagined that whatever that routine was, it probably fell into a "the less you know, the better" category.
"It should be fun." Simmons stated at length, forcing a reassuring smile onto his face before turning to nod in Donut's direction, "Thanks again for letting me sleep over tonight, Donut."
A part of the maroon-wearing man had been rather terrified at the prospect of sleeping by himself in his own room. Usually at the hospital, whenever a particularly bad dream or memory occurred, Doctor Grey or one of the other doctors or nurses seemed to stop by like clockwork to distract him. Simmons wasn't sure how he would cope if he woke up in a panicked state all by himself, even if admitting that left him feeling all sorts of inept and pathetic.
Donut smiled and jumped up from where he'd been sitting on his bed with all of the energy his years of claimed dance and musical practice allowed, patting the cyborg jovially on the back, "It's no problem at all, Simmons!" The dirty blond assured him, "I'm always ready and willing to let my fellow man crash in my hole as many times as it takes!"
"Er…" Simmons felt his face go red at his pink-armored teammate's particular wording as he struggled to come up with a response, "Thanks?"
Donut's smile turned into an outright grin, "Caboose, Andersmith, and Lopez are sticking around tonight, which should make things all the merrier too! Being with so many guys at once is a surefire way to scream out with delight!"
Simmons' mind went blank while oblivious Caboose clapped his hands together excitedly, "Oh, a screaming contest!" The blue-wearing man exclaimed.
Andersmith, meanwhile, frowned contemplatively, "My voice is always too deep to win those." He lamented.
"Deep voices just make for deep throats, my friend!" Donut said in way of trying to cheer up the blue-trimmed lieutenant.
"En serio, me estoy quedando solo para los primeros juegos de fiesta y luego estoy fuera." {"I am seriously only sticking around for the first few party games and then I am out."}
"I'm rather surprised Grif didn't volunteer to join in," Carolina spoke up from behind a growing smirk from the open doorway where she'd been observing the rather amusing scene with arms crossed, "Since you roped Wash into helping make snacks and all."
The former Freelancer seemed to realize her mistake when she saw Simmons' face take on a stricken note. There was an apologetic gleam in her green eyes as Donut cleared his throat following his own nervous glance at the cyborg, "Well, five is a bit of a crowd for these sized rooms." He stated quickly, "So even though I'd personally love cramming as many guys into this tight space as I can…"
"Ah. Right." The cyan-wearing woman tilted her head to the side, "Sorry about that." Carolina glanced back behind her at the next door over, "Since he's been practically living in Simmons' room, I'd just assumed…"
Realizing she'd only dug herself in further, Carolina trailed off and gingerly closed her hand over Simmons' shoulder in an awkward attempt at comfort. He smiled at the gesture, though his mind was whirring over what she had said.
Was that the real reason Donut and the others hadn't wanted him to step inside his own room yet, because he would have been able to tell right away that Grif had been there recently?
"Well, yeah," Donut smiled anxiously at Simmons, "But that was just because of the rat infestation in his room."
"Mierda." {"Bullshit."}
Caboose sighed, "If they had let me catch one, I would have named it Snickers."
Andersmith nodded his head, "An excellent name choice, Captain Caboose!"
"But Grif wouldn't let me check it out." The blond-haired man continued sadly, as if he hadn't heard Andersmith's praise.
"¡Eso es porque él obviamente estaba mintiendo ya que aquí nadie habla de sus jodidos sentimientos!" {"That's because he was obviously lying since no one here ever talks about their fucking feelings!"}
Donut patted Caboose on the shoulder consolingly before offering Simmons a rather apologetic look "Sorry for not telling you before, Simmons. We just assumed you wouldn't mind since it was Grif and all."
Of course not, why would he mind? The two had pretty much been sharing both of their rooms already. It wasn't as if Grif hadn't needed a place to crash in since he had been uncomfortable doing so at the hospital.
"Of…of course I don't mind. It isn't like I've been using it myself, right?" Simmons' voice came out far too pained-sounding and high-pitched. He winced and laughed nervously to try and cover it up, but failed miserably.
Lopez shook his head, while Donut bit his bottom lip and looked away to give Simmons some small shred of dignity. Caboose was holding onto Cuddles tightly and the cyborg was halfway convinced the toy bear would be shoved into his arms a second later.
Carolina and Andersmith both looked rather nervous themselves, unsure of what exactly to say. The redheaded female tentatively patted Simmons' shoulder, apparently having an inward debate as to whether or not to say "there, there" as she did so if the furrowing of her eyebrows was any indication. She quickly dropped her hand when Sarge and Washington joined the fray, Sarge apparently taking mercy on his maroon subordinate and trying to defuse the situation.
"That's the spirit, son!" Sarge informed Simmons emphatically, and Simmons nearly wanted to kick himself for the slight elation that small amount of praise gave him, "You can just kick that orange-wearing dirtbag freeloader out whenever you want to, rats or not rats!"
"¡Nunca hubo ratas!" {"There were never any rats!"}
"You guys will have to catch him first though! The bitch is fast when he wants to give someone the slip." Kai called loudly from somewhere down the hall.
Sarge looked away for a moment, coughing uncomfortably, "Though I'm sure even he is glad you're back with us, Simmons. Just like the rest of us."
It was nearly so low that Simmons couldn't hear it, but his green eye watered up all the same at the sincerity in the older man's words. He knew how difficult it was for Red Team's leader to say that sort of thing in general. "Th—thank you, sir!" The cyborg managed to get out, clearly touched.
"Hey, crazy old guy!" Kai suddenly shouted out to Sarge again, "What's the deal with the hot mercenary hanging out in your room? Have you called dibs yet or what?"
"I am going out." Locus' response to Kai's inquiry was quite loud and to-the-point.
Sarge harrumphed, muttering "Dang-nab-it!" under his breath with an odd bit of red suddenly coloring his cheeks.
Washington took the opportunity to pointedly clear his throat, "Anyone want hot chocolate?"
An amused Carolina raised an eyebrow, "And here I was thinking you had forgotten that you volunteered to be on snack duty tonight."
Washington blushed slightly, the expression looking out of place on his battle-weary features as Tucker let out a sharp burst of laughter from where he had appeared in the hallway, "Seriously, dude? Wash, you're totally the official team mom now!" The dark-skinned man teased.
The laughter that suddenly erupted from everyone within earshot at poor, flustered Washington's expense was downright infectious, especially when the former Freelancer's mouth curved upwards slightly.
Simmons couldn't help but find himself joining in, feeling more at ease in that particular moment than he had in a long while.
It wasn't until well into the early hours of that morning that Grif entered the temporary residence set up for the Reds and Blues during their stay on Chorus. Following Bitters and Matthews' strategic retreat from the restaurant, Kai had departed herself with some further advice to her big bro about getting his head in the game and actively going for something that would make him happy for once in his life.
Which was easy for her to say, all things considered. The universe always had a way of dragging Dexter Grif down, and as much as he wanted to be with Simmons, was it worth potentially wrecking what they had now? Wouldn't he just drag him down too?
That was something the redhead most certainly did not need right now.
So, the orange-armored man wandered the streets of Chorus and pondered for who knew how long, only growing more and more frustrated with his useless self at not having figured anything out.
Becoming invested in things, in people? Well, it absolutely and majorly sucked. And yet, he didn't want to stop or regret doing so for the few things he did care about, for the things he was constantly terrified of somehow ruining. It was a major drag.
The one benefit of wandering back in to their temporary residence when he did was that even the two Freelancers, Sarge, and Locus were apparently not up and about. Which was great since he wasn't really in the mood for insults and incredibly awkward but well-intentioned attempts at conversation.
Lopez, however, was sitting at the communal kitchen, looking down at the now decidedly pink tips of his metal gauntlets. The robot looked up at Grif briefly when he entered and let out a defeated sigh.
"Debería haberme ido antes de que el rosado me ofreciera pintar mis uñas inexistentes." {"I should have left before the pink one offered to paint my nonexistent nails."}
His explanation had Grif shrugging dismissively before he started walking away. That was definitely a Donut sleepover mistake you only had to learn about once.
"Estás siendo incluso más tonto que de costumbre." {"You're being even dumber than usual."}
The heavyset man paused, having not expected Lopez to speak up again. The robot shook his brown helmeted head in exasperation.
"Ambos necesitan el otro. Es hora de que idiotas dejen de evitar eso." {"You both need the other. It's time you idiots stop avoiding that."}
Grif pretended not to have heard him, trudging up the stairs instead.
Lopez had apparently left the door open to Donut's room when he had made his escape, and the scene inside was one of utter chaos.
There were magazines, books, and video-watching tablets strewn across the unused bed. That teddy bear that Caboose had given Simmons was propped up with one of the video pads on the pillow as if it had been watching a movie.
There was a heap of blankets and pillows on the floor, Donut and Andersmith sleeping side-by-side while Caboose hugged Simmons in his sleep.
The expression on Simmons' face wasn't clouded over or twisted with discomfort and horrific nightmares just then. The redhead almost looked content for the first time that Grif could remember in a long while.
The tan-skinned man smiled slightly at the sight, a sharp pull hitting his chest as he reluctantly tore his gaze away finally. His feet once again led him instinctively to Simmons' door, and he stood before it while taking in a deep, shaky breath of air.
Simmons found himself standing in a dark, empty space that seemed to close in around him in a suffocating fashion. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, fear and trepidation bubbling up to the surface inside of him.
Not again, not now. He couldn't…!
The cyborg looked down at where the ground beneath his feet should be when a distinctive glimmer caught his eye. The breath froze in his lungs, his chest gears' movements becoming painful.
He was surrounded on all sides, as far as the eye could see in the limiting blackness around him, by the fractured shards of what had once been a monumentally huge mirror.
Only, instead of his own reflection staring hauntingly back at him, he only saw a maroon helmet with a blue visor instead.
"No one ever really cared to tell the difference between us." Gene's voice taunted from everywhere and nowhere all at once in a smug, sing-song fashion.
Simmons couldn't speak, but he shook his head fervently in protest all the same.
"We're more alike than different. You weren't able to do anything without me." Gene carried on, ignoring Simmons' obvious distress, "I made fucking sure of that."
That was right, the redhead thought with growing dread, falling onto suddenly very weak knees. He hadn't been able to do anything, and that had been terrible enough. But then the others had to rescue him, they all saw and knew and…
"No one else will ever want someone so pathetic and weak around."
The gloating continued, becoming a wordless cacophony in his ears that managed to carve itself into his very being as it continued to be Gene who was looking up at him through his reflections.
Simmons' hands clenched painfully into trembling fists as he cowered.
He wanted so desperately to break the mirror just then, but it was already shattered.
Simmons woke up with a heavy start and a strangled gasp, finding it very difficult to breathe, Caboose's bear hug notwithstanding.
The cyborg had to position himself very carefully to avoid hurting his recuperating arm in his sleep. The panic started declining at the realization that he was still very much in Donut's room and surrounded by some of his dear, goofball friends.
The maroon-wearing man smiled slightly at the reminder before somehow miraculously managing to maneuver and wiggle himself out of Caboose's protective, powered-by-friendship grip. The younger man grimaced slightly in his sleep before promptly rolling over and crashing into Andersmith, resulting in a sleepy "group huddle" that Donut would no doubt cheerfully refer to as a threesome at some point once they woke up.
The mugs, all four of theirs along with Lopez's motor oil one and the cups that everyone else had left behind following the first wave of hot chocolate they had all enjoyed while huddled together in Donut's room despite his earlier "crammed" remarks, had been removed at some point after they had fallen asleep.
Simmons suspected Carolina's stealthy handiwork, as she had said that she would see to dish cleanup if Washington was on snack duty. Tucker had rolled his eyes at the former Freelancer and asked her why everything had to be a fucking contest, to which she simply smirked and said that he was just mad because she was clearly winning.
Simmons stood up on shaky feet, not wanting to disturb the others. As grateful as he was for their support, he didn't want to burden them with the aftermath of another nightmare.
If he stayed in the room any longer, he had the terrifying if illogical thought that the lingering anxiety and negativity from this latest one would somehow infect them too and he didn't want that.
The redhead carefully edged over to the thankfully open doorway, taking a few minutes for his breathing to become less erratic. Once it felt more normal he stepped out, only to pause at the sight of the heavyset figure standing in front of his bedroom door.
Dexter Grif appeared to be just as shocked at Simmons' sudden appearance in the hallway, his brown and green eyes widening in surprise.
Simmons' throat suddenly felt very dry as he swallowed nervously.
There were so many things that he wanted to say or do, but his brain seemed intent on failing him as all that squeaked out was, "Wh…what are you doing?"
Grif's gaze went from Simmons to his bedroom door then back to Simmons as he rubbed the back of his head nervously, "I was just going to get some of my things out of your room before you had a conniption fit."
"Oh." Simmons nodded his head in understanding, "So does that mean the rats are gone then?"
"What?" The blank look on Grif's face was rather perplexing, to say the least.
"Donut said you'd been sleeping in my room because of rats in yours." He explained lamely.
A slight flicker of recognition came across his tanned face then, "Right," Grif replied unconvincingly, "Rats."
"You know," Simmons couldn't help but add, "If you cleaned up your dirty plates every once in a while that wouldn't happen."
"Oh, quiet, Simmons. You've always been jealous of my plate-stacking skills and you know it."
The response was immediate, and both men smiled softly at the other at the remembered, comforting steps of their usual routine.
But, just as quickly, the air became tense and uncomfortable again as Grif averted his gaze, "What are you doing up?" He finally asked.
Simmons blinked at the quiet question thrown his way, looking down at the floor himself, "I couldn't sleep." He admitted rather weakly.
"Ah." was Grif's only comment.
Simmons felt the need to elaborate for some reason, as if afraid that this conversation he had finally been able to start up with Grif by accident might dissipate if he didn't, "I—I really didn't want to ruin everyone's night, so…" He trailed off, not liking how pathetic that sounded.
Grif said nothing, instead turning to face the door to Simmons' room once more. He opened it silently, motioning with his pale hand over his shoulder for Simmons to follow him inside. Simmons, not really wanting to stand in an anxious mess in the hallway for someone else to find, hesitatingly did so.
His room, oddly enough, wasn't really in a disorganized mess regardless of Grif having been apparently camping out in it.
His bed was a bit more rumpled than he would have usually left it, but that was about it. Though, as Simmons slipped past Grif and further into the space, he could definitely smell Grif's scent lingering there, even at his organized work desk.
It was a smell he had started to find oddly comforting at some point over their time together.
Grif softly closed the door, a grimace resting on his face as he opened his mouth to say something.
"I'm sorry."
Simmons, however, beat him to it.
The apology gave the chubby man pause, and Grif blinked in surprise as he regarded Simmons, "Can you repeat that?"
Simmons closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, "I'm sorry, Grif." He repeated more succinctly this time, the words spilling from his mouth even before he could really register them as he looked over at Grif imploringly, "I'm a shitty teammate and friend. I really didn't want to make everyone worry, and I totally understand if you hate me and are disgusted by me now." He let out a watery, half-hearted sort-of laugh, "If you think about it, I'm really more the hate glue and it's no wonder things are so fucking awkward between us now because I'm a loser who can't speak up about anything and if you don't want to hang out anymore I get it because—"
Grif's eyes narrowed dangerously the more the rambling continued, "Simmons, shut the fuck up." He finally spat out.
The normally apathetic man's angry tone just then caused Simmons to flinch, and he shakily moved past the tan-skinned man to get to the door again, both eyes burning as his green one filled with tears, "S—sorry." Simmons babbled nervously, "I can't…can't even get this out right…"
He was stopped from leaving the room when two hands fell on his shoulders as Grif gently spun the redhead back around to face him. Grif didn't let go of Simmons and his expression when he stared at the cyborg was disconcertingly unreadable.
"That is all because of what that fucking asshole Gene did to you." Grif stated, a raw tone to his voice as if he was both angry and hurting all at once.
Simmons hated hearing it, "M—maybe." He conceded, voice shaking more than just a little bit, "But that wouldn't have happened in the first place if I wasn't so stupid and…"
Grif's tan finger carefully traced the knife scar underneath Simmons' eye, causing him to trail off again, holding in his breath out of absolute shock.
Before he could gather enough of his wits about him to ask what it was that Grif was doing, he was suddenly pulled into an embrace. The orange-wearing man even tried to be mindful of his braced arm, a tenderness that the redhead wasn't anticipating.
Simmons remained frozen in shock at this unexpected action, but he was aware of his heart-gear pumping exceptionally hard. His face was already close to burning when he felt Grif's breath ghosting over his neck.
"I should be the one to say sorry." Grif told him as he circled his arms protectively around Simmons even more, "I hadn't meant to let any of you be alone again, and I had especially wanted to tell you everything and…"
The dark-haired man trailed off, voice sounding just as shaky as Simmons' had earlier.
Simmons blinked, "G—Grif…?" He finally managed to stammer out.
The hug somehow became even tighter, and Simmons felt himself starting to melt into the warmth that Grif's steadying presence close by provided, "I just…I didn't know how to deal with you getting hurt." Grif said.
The admission was probably enough to set Simmons' whole body ablaze, and he smiled tentatively, "It sucked for me too, Grif." More than he'd probably ever be able to vocalize except maybe one day in the future when he might be able to share it with Grif at least, though even more than that, he realized, "I don't want you getting hurt either."
Grif loosened his hold enough so that he could look Simmons in the eye, smirking self-deprecatingly, "We're both fucking idiots, huh?"
"Definitely." Simmons was quick to agree before he leaned over and touched Grif's mouth softly with his own.
Grif's eyes were blown wide open in shock when Simmons reluctantly pulled away from the contact. He blushed heavily, shyly starting to mutter out an apology that he was quick to cut off when he felt Grif's arms squeeze tighter around him.
"If you're going to say sorry again, then you had better shut the fuck up now, kiss-ass."
Simmons was quick to return Grif's smirk in kind a moment later.
It wasn't long afterwards that Simmons managed to shed his pajamas with Grif's attentive help, anxiously and rather fearfully letting the other man get a better look at all of the new scars and discolorations dotting his freckled body.
They were reminders of things Simmons would be quite happy to never dwell on again, physical markings that were going to stay with him just as surely as all of the memories and nightmares would.
He shuddered at the thought, disgusted at the notion of not only himself having to constantly carry that with him but at the possibility of what they represented always being there for Grif too now, of what Grif probably thought about them and of Simmons.
He was about to reach for his clothes and bolt in sheer terror at how stupid he had been to have even suggested this in the first place because what the fuck had he been thinking, had he been so drunk on delirious happiness at his and Grif's talk that he had lost all common sense and shame?
But, Grif reached out and pulled Simmons' shivering, lanky form close again.
The orange-wearing man said nothing, though his hands and mouth quickly took note of each and every mark, his touches surprisingly reassuring and tender all the while.
It was as if he wanted to adore every feature because they were a part of Simmons.
Simmons wrapped his cybernetic arm around Grif, his natural limb in the brace nestled protectively between the two of them.
He smiled back at Grif, and for the first time in a long while that he could remember, the reflection that Simmons caught of himself in the other man's eyes was one that he actually wanted to see.
Author's Notes: We have reached the ending! *doses head in a bucket of water* In all honesty, I'm not quite sure how I feel about this third chapter as I probably didn't delve into the psychological aftermath of what had happened nearly as well as someone else might have done, but I wanted to end things on a more positive note at least for poor Simmons and Grif. Understandably, there's certainly still quite a lot of healing and recovery that Simmons would need to go through in particular, but at least now he has Grif with him to help him through that and a whole bunch of other supportive people too!
Straight up romantic scenes are always something of a struggle for me, even though I am a sucker for them and will always try to write them no matter what. XD
Hopefully my writing schedule will get back to its regular routine again now that this story is wrapped up. For one of my smaller chaptered stories, this guy ended up having crazy page count numbers with every update! :D
Thank you so, so much again for reading this experimental, out-of-my-usual-comfort-zone story all the way to its conclusion. I hope that there were at least a couple of parts in this aftermath portion that you enjoyed! :D You guys are truly the best! :)
{BTW, I was so tempted to name Cuddles "Beepo" instead…you have no idea. Any other Legends of Tomorrow fans out there? XD}