Shake
Hey, Stranger
[Shake: noun, the act or a manner of clasping another's hand in greeting, agreement:]
It was almost tragic how many times in Grif's life he had believed he had been about to die. A tank heading directly towards him – he had managed to send Kai a last thought, hoping she would not be too angry when she found out, before it had all been just pain and darkness. Firing squad had been pretty intimidating, even though they had all been asswipes. Falling off a cliff had definitely nearly given him a heart-attack.
But a heavy set of grey boots being planted in front of his hiding spot?
Grif knew he was absolutely fucked.
He stayed in his crouched position, as if hoping his vulnerable stance would grant him some mercy.
About two seconds later, he lost what little control he had been trying to keep a hold on. Grif whimpered, holding up his hands to shield his face. "Please don't break my ankles! 'cause then you'd just have to drag me back and I'm not exactly light… Not that I'm questioning your strength or anything; I'm-"
"Grif."
His name was followed by that sort of exhausted sigh that could only belong to one person.
Grif dared to look up slightly. "Wash?"
The Freelancer had a hand on his visor. "Do you realize how lucky you are?"
"…does that mean you're not going to break my ankles?" Grif dared to ask. He put a hand on the rock for support, slowly getting up from the ground. His knees hurt from the strained position.
"I…" Wash trailed off, seemingly frowning. "Do you really think that is something I would actually do?" he then asked, sounding pretty bothered by the fact that the answer could be yes.
"You're a Freelancer," Grif pointed out dryly. "Submitting to your anger-issues is a part of your job-description. If it helps, I did think you were Locus. Intimidating shadow and all that."
Wash was glaring at him. "I could have been Locus. And had that been the case, you may have been cradling your ankles now."
Grif gulped once. "Huh. I guess I can call myself lucky then. Let's see if it continues. If we move now, we might get enough distance to-"
"Grif," Wash replied in the same tone the Drill Sergeant had been talking to him back in Basic. "We're going back."
Holding up his hands, he said, "Okay. Alright. Just… One good reason not to try to find the Rebels."
"Grif-"
"One," he said again, letting his arms fall before crossing them in defiance.
"Because," Wash began, his stern voice matching Grif's, "Locus is supposed to return tonight. And if they realize we are missing, he will be sent out to locate us and-"
"Break our ankles," Grif finished for him with a shudder.
Wash exhaled loudly. "At least you get the general idea."
"C'mon." Grif waved him off. With all that talk about Locus his eyes could not help but flicker towards the direction he had fled from. "Aren't you the Blues' super Freelancer? Don't tell me you're scared of him."
"I'm not scared!" Wash immediately huffed in annoyed tone.
"Dude, don't feel bad about it. I'm freaking terrified of him."
Wash had one hand raised, and it looked like he was about to place his other on his hip, had he not been gripping his rifle so tightly. "What I am saying is that facing Locus head-on might not be the best idea."
"Yeah, well, we don't usually go for the best idea. We don't even go for the good ones. We go for mediocre or just whatever shit we can come up with," Grif explained with a shrug. "And you can't really tell me a reason not to try to find the others."
"Besides Locus being sent after you? You did leave behind the rest of us."
Grif shifted his weight on his feet. Okay, so fair point. But it was not like he was going to forget them. He knew he was an asshole but not that big an asshole. "Look, I'd tell them where you guys were and then we could-"
"And did it occur to you that after your disappearance they could increase security? Or relocate us? Again?"
Wash kept staring at him the entire time Grif searched for a good answer. While he thought, the only thing that could be heard was the leaves rustling in the wind. "Okay, okay. You're right. Just… Look, I don't make plans. Simmons does. I'm just the guy who makes sure we don't spend the rest of the day coming up with all the horrible ways the plan could go wrong."
"I understand that, really." Wash took a step closer. "And I wish your plan could work. But we need to go back."
"What? Before Locus shows up and breaks our ankles?"
"That is oddly specific but yes. If we return before they notice we were gone, you won't have to explain yourself." Wash had already begun to walk away, expecting Grif to follow. He did not even look over his shoulder to check.
Well, not like Grif had anything else to do. He briefly considered running off into the darkness alone but Wash had made some pretty good points. As much as Grif would like to find the other half of the team, screwing the remaining half over did not sound like a great idea.
He stumbled after Wash, noting that little judgment in his voice. "I won't have to- Hey, we. It should be we. We're both out here."
"Yes, but I was being responsible by tracking you down." Wash fastened up his walk when his HUD informed him of how close they were to morning. "I had plenty of reasons to explain myself with."
"Well, I could lie and say you were the one who… Fine. Okay, sorry for dragging you along into this. How did you even find out-"
"Did you really expect me to sleep through your noise?" Wash asked with a small huff in the end.
Grif scowled behind his visor. "Seriously. You need to sleep. This is unnatural and you're offending my lifestyle by denying the sweet embrace of sleep. Breaking my heart every time," he said while faking a sad voice.
Wash let out a slightly amused sound which at least meant he was not pissed. "Your plan… It wasn't bad, Grif. Well, the execution and the overall lack of awareness of its consequences were not… flawless. But the intentions were good."
"Intentions mean shit," Grif replied firmly 'cause he had learned that much in his life already.
"Look," Wash said. "When we go, we're all going together. Okay?"
It was not the promise Grif had been looking for but it was better than nothing so when Wash turned his helmet to look at him, he nodded.
Grif was punished. Not by broken ankles. But not even two hours after they had snuck their way back to their room, Wash woke Grif up by shaking his shoulder.
Groaning, he rolled over to bury his face in the pillow. "Five more minutes."
"Grif."
Well, not his hopes had been up anyway. Simmons had never granted him extra sleep either and Wash would not be more merciful.
Time to use the desperate trick then. Grif tried to cough as loudly as he could with his face against the pillow. "Seems like I-" He coughed again; it could never hurt to be a bit dramatic. "-I caught something in the cold. Oh well. Better take a sick day."
"Oh," Wash said. Grif barely had the time to grow suspicious about his own victory before the Freelancer continued, "I'll fetch Doctor Grey then."
"Fuck no!" Grif stumbled out of his bed, putting on his armor as quickly as possible.
Wash was wearing a bit too amused expression as he waited for him to get finished. "Afraid of needles?"
"I keep telling you, that crazy woman wants my organs!" Grif did not put on his helmet but held it in his hand – they were heading down to eat so there was no real use for it. "And I bet Sarge is more than willing to give them to her!"
Grif kept his shoulders hunched as he entered the mess hall. Even though he knew his midnight trip had been a secret he could not help but feel people were staring at him. But there was no way they could know. Right?
Wash seemed calm so that was something to comfort himself with. Besides, people were allways staring at them. With them being their new saviors and shit…
One of the soldiers had his helmet off, spoonful of oatmeal being lifted towards his mouth, when he noticed Grif. His mouth widened into a grin when he gained eye-contact, even giving him a friendly nod.
It took some seconds before Grif remembered. Melman… No, Gelman. The cigarette dude from yesterday.
The young soldier was still smiling at him, apparently very happy to see that Grif had kept his promise. Well, it would have been rather awful to be the one causing their "savior" to escape. Especially with Locus keeping everything in check.
Grif did not really do the whole smiling-at-strangers-thing so he answered it with a short nod. Seemed to be enough. Gelman's face turned even brighter and then he turned his head to share some words with a teammate.
Filling his food tray with as much breakfast as they allowed, Grif followed Wash to the table where their group would usually eat. Not like "usually" counted for much – they were being relocated too often to get used to any of the places.
Sarge and Lopez were already seated. The robot had no tray in front of him, of course, and did not even look up when the newcomers dropped down in front of him.
Grif grumbled something that could be understood as a morning greeting and Sarge mumbled something in return. Then Grif returned his focus on the important stuff – his breakfast – but after only one spoonful he noticed from the corner of his eye how the Freelancer was still staring at him.
Wash cleared his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"…if you're about to suggest prayer before meal I'm gonna-" Grif trailed off when Wash silently slid a bottle of pills across the table. "Oh." He propped it open with his thumb, the one that had once belonged to Simmons, and swallowed a pill dry. "Thanks," he muttered and went back to stare at his breakfast instead.
"Dagnabbit," Sarge grumbled from his side of the table. "I was hoping the dirtbag would finally succumb to his own uselessness. Of course a Blue would crush my hopes and dreams. Miss Doctor is still looking forward to your autopsy and, damnit Grif, you do not disappoint a lady!"
"Can't you find some other wedding gift?"
Sarge growled, "What did you say?"
"Nothing," Grif sighed, picking up his spoon. Before he could enjoy the taste of oh-so-bland oatmeal, his stomach dropped when he noticed Locus in the corner of the hall. Wash seemed to have noticed too, as Grif felt the Freelancer tense up next to him.
The mercenary glared at them in a way that made Grif want to cradle his ankles. Fucking shit, he knew. Didn't he?
But then Locus turned around, marching out of the mess hall without saying a word. Judging by how well-armed he appeared, he was about to head out again. Not surprising. The mercenary seemed to appear and disappear on missions all the time without people actually knowing what he was up too. Hopefully Doyle knew.
So Locus was away again, Doyle was still in that capital, and Grif and the others were stuck in this shithole.
And who knew where Simmons and the rest of the guys were? Far away from here – that was the only thing Grif knew.
"No, that definitely counts as losing them. You're just lucky you are too damn terrifying to piss off."
As Locus replied, Felix looked around one extra time to make sure no one was around. Wouldn't really want anyone to be listening in on this conversation.
Finally the other mercenary stopped talking, allowing Felix to let out an offended huff and retort with a hiss, "I'm not the one who lost track of them. I am doing my job." He chuckled darkly to himself. Drawing his knife with his free hand, he played with it to keep himself busy. "It's pretty funny actually. I mean, I had expected Wash to be trouble but the fatass… Don't tell me he outran you. You sure he wasn't just trying to get to a secret snack stash? Seems more likely."
Through the helmet he heard Locus' answer, and it was enough to make him pace back and forth in irritation. Felix hissed back, "We both know I'm the one stuck with the shitty part of this job. You should see these idiots actually believing-"
He was cut off which only added to his frustration. It seemed to take forever before Locus fell silent on the other end, but when he did Felix had his reply ready.
"Well, instead of making them want to run away you should be encouraging them to fight. Just because I'm the only one who knows how to stick to the…" Felix trailed off as he turned his head. In the distance he saw that green Lieutenant almost dragging Kimball along. Their fastened pace indicated something was wrong.
When was the last time he had seen the Captains again? This morning had been strangely quiet with a lack of idiotic bickering.
Right.
"…plan." Felix finally finished his sentence and let out a strained sigh. "I have to go."
Well, if Felix' speculations turned out to be true, he would have to call back Locus soon anyway.
"Sarge, for the last time, we are not using live targets during training," Wash had to say with a strained voice. They were walking down the hallway to prepare for another practice course.
"Not even when Grif has volunteered?" the Sergeant tried again, glancing at the orange soldier as he spoke.
Grif would have answered – the insult was already on the tip of his tongue – but then the alarm began. Loud and ominous, light began to flash red on the top of the ceiling.
"I didn't push anything," Grif said quickly for this was about the time either Simmons or Sarge would accuse him of fucking up. Then he realized just what he had said – because he was actually not at fault here – and he felt his stomach drop. "Holy crap, is that the bomb alarm?"
They had never experienced a Rebel attack before but they all knew it had happened in the past. Even different outposts had been attacked while Grif and the others had been with the Feds. One of the reasons why they were moved around; for their own safety.
"Or maybe someone won the lottery!" Sarge suggested. They had all frozen in their steps, sensing the growing panic around the building. Wash reloaded his gun.
"¿Que loteria?" [What lottery?] Lopez asked, drawing his weapon as well.
"And I didn't even get a ticket! I knew I had forgotten something!"
"Alert. Catastrophic breach detected in sewage pipeline. Sector 3," they were told by the speakers installed in the corner of every hallway.
Grif visibly relaxed. "Phew. Not our problem."
"Warning. Sewage breach detected in the barracks."
And then every soldier in the base seemed to come alive. One almost plowed Grif to the ground as he ran past him and he barely took the time to apologize before he left the room in a hurry.
The Reds and Wash remained where they were standing, sharing a glance. "I have a bad feeling about this," the Freelancer revealed as they stared at the exit the soldiers had disappeared through.
Grif huffed. "What? The thought of our beds slowly being drowned in shit? Yeah, not pleasant."
Wash began to move forward. "Let's go." And the others followed.
As they rushed down the hallway, Grif briefly wondered where they were going, what they were doing. Were they going to force their way through shit? Or did Wash' Freelancer senses warn him of some incoming attack? The Feds trying to drown them in shit?
Or maybe… Well, this was the perfect opportunity to slip away. An increasing amount of shit served as a good distraction. No one would notice if they just took the back exit…
The door slid open and Simmons was on the other side of it.
Simmons was awfully quiet during the whole explanation-sharing. His body was tensed up as their stories were revealed. He might have been looking at Grif but it was hard to tell with the helmet.
Grif, on the other hand, deflated in relief as they slowly came to the conclusion that everyone on this planet was confused. So what? Since when had their lives been simple? They should have seen this coming; their lives were basically tainted by weird shit. Of course things were never as simple as they looked like.
But Simmons was okay. Donut and Tucker and Caboose too; somehow they had all managed not to get killed. They were alive and breathing and apparently Captains.
…So Simmons finally got that promotion. Huh.
When Simmons finally spoke, he was not speaking to Grif. He was just saying his thoughts out loud, talking about how something wasn't right.
Which was bullshit, of course. This was the first right thing since… Well, things had not been right in a long time.
"Wait, do you hear that?" Simmons asked, turning his head rapidly.
Grif did not answer him. He did not want their first conversation to be about stuff they could not hear. Like, Donut had already shed a couple of tears at this point, exclaiming how much he had missed his Red teammates.
And Simmons was talking about his own paranoia.
"Uhh... No." Tucker looked from Grif back to Simmons and then towards Wash. No one seemed able to identify what the fuck Simmons was talking about.
Donut took a step closer to the maroon soldier, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Simmons?"
"What happened to the alarms?"
Oh. Oh. Grif had gotten so used to a constant headache already he should have noticed the lack of a brain-melting alarm.
Silence was usually good. Silence meant a good opportunity to nap. But this…
Grif blinked.
Memories began to force their way through the back of his mind. Memories of a dead-quiet outpost where no one answered his shouting, when no one laughed as Grif walked around like a lost fool, and all the bodies and all the blood on the floor, so much that he had left bloody boot-prints as he wandered down one hallway after another, finding too many bodies to count, but someone had to be alive, just someone, 'cause there was no fucking way he could've…
Grif's hands were most definitely not shaking. He looked down at them just to be sure. Well, at least it wasn't that visible, and the others were more focused on figuring on what the fuck was going on right now.
He was faintly aware of them asking questions and yelling, and he reminded himself that at least it was not exactly like last time.
Suddenly Sarge grabbed his elbow and dragged him along, pulling him into the jeep and Grif reacted by instinct. The vehicle came to a halt, and both he and Sarge sprung out from it, weapons raised.
They had been warned about this. Rebel attacks from out of nowhere. Massive losses when they got the upper hand.
"Grif, establish a perimeter!" Sarge barked, shotgun raised and the finger on the trigger was ready to pull at any moment.
"How?!" Grif asked, keeping a tight grip on his own rifle. "Want me to draw a fucking circle in the snow?"
"Usted se avergüenza a si mismo." [You embarass yourself.]
The Fed that ran up to Sarge should count himself really lucky. It was a wonder that none of them had accidently shot him out of pure tension. But it was nice to see someone alive, even if it was another oh-god-do-you-expect-me-to-know-your-name-Fed.
Grif felt movement behind him, and he turned his head just enough to see Simmons and the others skid to a halt a few meters away. The maroon soldier was still quiet and tense, weapon ready as well.
And then Grif returned his focus to the scene in front of him, just in time to see the Fed being disintegrated.
Well, shit.
This was the first person Grif had ever seen disintegrated before. He could not quite decide whether the death looked painful or not. At least it was somewhat quick. But definitely not pleasant.
"Umm... Did everyone else see that?"
Grif smacked his lips before answering Tucker's question, "You mean a man disintegrate right in front of us?"
"Yep."
Simmons visibly shuddered and whined, "Really wish I hadn't."
Then the screaming began. Shots echoing around the base. It was almost ironic; when this place finally came alive it was in the worst way possible. Grif was not quite sure what else he had expected.
They could see the carnage happening in the distance. Falling bodes and red spreading near one of the barracks. And for some stupid reason Grif was stupid enough to recognize Gelman's blond hair before the young soldier found the time to tug on his helmet. The Fed was launching himself at the enemy who had just killed his teammate. The attack was rushed and unprepared, and Gelman did not even come close before the shot hit him in the middle of the chest.
Now Grif really hoped death by disintegration was not that painful.
The sight had been enough to stun Grif, or at least to keep him distracted enough to forget his own situation. Then a hand clasped around his wrist, grip tight enough to make it hurt, and then he was pulled backwards with enough force to make him wonder if he could ever get his shoulder back in place again.
"Are you that fucking stupid?" Simmons hissed with that extra edge to his voice that revealed he was seriously pissed. Like the time Grif had accidently scratched his cyborg arm while borrowing it (okay, maybe he should have asked first). "We have to move!"
Not like Grif had a choice about that matter. Simmons was dragging him backwards, using his cyborg hand which meant Grif had no chance of breaking free from his grasp.
Not that he was going to complain about that: their jeep exploded behind them, and suddenly Grif was glad he had been dragged away.
Along with the others, he stumbled into a clearing, doubling over as he tried to catch his breath. Simmons suddenly let go of his wrist, as if he had burned himself, and jumped away from the orange soldier.
"What are we dealing with?" Wash asked, and Grif really wanted to know the same thing. This was all panic and confusion – and it was all a bit above their normal level of panic and confusion.
"We don't know!" Donut squealed.
"Well, it ain't the rebels, that's for sure." Sarge was not wrong, as much as Grif hated to agree with the Sergeant. But if they had come to the conclusion that Chorus had not true 'bad guys', then…
"Then who the hell is it?"
Tucker had barely asked the question out loud before that red laser beams appeared on his body. Grif turned his head to see it and suddenly felt a mix of hatred and fear against the color red.
He had barely even lowered his rifle before a red dot landed on the middle of his chest. Oh fucking shit. Grif gulped loudly but with his weapon already lowered there wasn't really a lot he could do.
Turning his head slightly, he saw Simmons stare back at him. The maroon soldier was free from any laser beams, but seeing his friends' situation he froze completely for a second before lowering his weapon as well.
Simmons kept glancing at him until Locus made his dramatic entrance and they all turned their focus upon the mercenary.
As Locus spoke Grif slowly came to the realization that, well shit, this was how they were going to die. The crazy mercenary was not going to break his ankles; he and his team of assholes were going to shoot them dead, without giving them any chance to fight back.
Death by Mercenary. Not really the way Grif had expected to go, actually. Of course they were bound to die in some stupid shit at some point but he had really hoped it would be later. As in, much later. Years later.
This timing was just bad. They had finally found the others, with literally no work being required from Grif, and the only thing Simmons had done was to bitch at him and… Well, maybe Grif should not have expected anything else.
Then Felix showed up. Grif had almost forgotten the snarky mercenary; of course there had been that slight gratitude that he had managed to get half of the team out of the crash site. Not as much as promised but it was something.
And then Felix turned out to be an asshole. A bigger asshole, if anything.
Grif wanted to be surprised, really, but he was just so… tired. Of course things turned out to be even shittier than expected.
Donut sounded absolutely devastated as the truth was revealed. "But…" he said and by the sound of his wavering voice Grif knew the pink soldier's lower lip had to be wobbling as this point.
Simmons' stiff stance did not reveal his emotions but Grif could imagine how pale the nerd had to be behind the visor. Paler than usually, at least.
Grif was not sure how to feel about it all. They were about to die anyway, so did his feelings even matter at this point?
When Felix finally stopped his monologue (and, god, did this guy love his own voice) it was not followed by their doom.
Instead, it was followed by their unexpected savior.
A grenade exploded, some mercenary did a cool flip, Locus yelled in anger, overall things just got crazy, and suddenly a weapon landed just in front of Grif.
It was about then he felt like sharing his thought on the situation. "WHAT IS GOING ON?!"
"Just grab it and shoot!" Wash yelled back at him, and Grif did not feel like disobeying that order.
In fact, the order was the only thing he focused on until that not-an-asshole-mercenary landed with a pained grunt in front of them.
"Stay close!"
Grif did not even have the chance to debate whether that was one of the orders he was going to follow before she slammed the future cub into the ground.
Ow.
When his vision finally began to clear again, Grif let out a pained grunt. "What just happened, and why did it hurt?"
Things were a bit fuzzy from there. Apparently Carolina and Church had decided to show up again, and maybe Tucker was not as happy about that as he should be, but Grif could not really focus on that.
After being teleported he had landed on top of Simmons and now the cyborg was busy shoving him off, trying to get their limbs untangled as quickly as possible.
Grif reluctantly helped him, and some seconds later they were both standing, facing each other.
"Sup?" Grif asked, hand halfway raised in a lazy gesture.
Simmons seemed to be frozen. Maybe he was crying. That was very possible. The cyborg had always been grateful for his helmets in the moments that required strong emotions.
He did not say anything. Did not sob loudly either. Not even that strangled sound he would make before having a panic attack.
Simmons was oddly quiet, even when he lashed out and punched Grif in the face.
A/N: I had to rewatch these scenes over and over again, in order to get them right, and I noticed this sweet detail: Lopez and Simmons are never hit by a rifle beam. They lower their weapon because their friends are threatened. Just felt like pointing that out.
The reunion chapter finally arrived! Of course there will be more Grif and Simmons interaction in the next chapter, as well as Simmons' side of it all.
I have worked some more on the outline of this story and if my plan goes as expected, there should be five more chapters of this story left. The number might chance, however, should the scenes turn out longer or shorter than expected.
I hope you will stick around to see the end 3
Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts on the chapter!