A/N: I do not own Red vs. Blue

Set somewhat between episode 19 and 20 in season 10. Or perhaps just in episode 20. I'm not completely sure. Just – it's while Church and Carolina go inside after the Director, okay? No exact numbers needed (Hey, details matter! – Shut up, Simmons!)

As Seasons Pass
Family Values (Discipline)

"You have got to be kidding me." Grif's reaction was pretty much the same as Simmons' had been. The obvious disbelief followed by a hint of pity. It was not because they knew her well, but such a reveal could not help but cause a tiny feeling of sympathy.

Simmons nodded and was rather proud that he was for once the one to bring Grif the newest gossip. "Nope, I heard the others talk about it."

"Well, shit." Grif paused and tilted his helmet towards the sky. The pair was sitting outside the storage facility since their job was obviously done by this point. Carolina and Epsilon were finally confronting the Director, and Grif had dragged Simmons away from Sarge and Donut and the Blues to take a well-deserved break. The orange soldier had his so-called battle sores to nurse, so they had not walked far. "Wow, Blue Team are all fucked up." While the statement was harsh, Grif's voice revealed that he almost felt bad for them. Which said a lot about the situation, considering Grif's normal lack of empathy.

But while they did not know a lot about Carolina, Simmons knew enough to correct his friend: "Technically, she isn't a Blue."

Grif turned his helmet to face him. "Does she look Red to you, Simmons?" he asked dryly.

"Good point," Simmons admitted. After a few seconds, he could not help but check on Grif's view on life. "You do know that the world isn't just Red versus Blue?"

"Right." Grif said the word too slowly to truly mean it. "You know what, Simmons? Ever since I entered the military it seems pretty clear the world is divided into Red and Blue and assholes."

"So you're saying I'm not an asshole?" Simmons asked perhaps a bit too smugly, but at least his helmet hid his smile.

Unfortunately, Grif seemed to have caught up on it. "Are you fishing for something, Simmons?"

"Wha – no. We're not even – we were talking about Agent Carolina!"

Grif nodded. "And her douchebag father. Seriously, I know he's the biggest cockbite, fuck him by the way, but it still kinda sucks for her." He paused for a few minutes, his visor revealing none of his thoughts, before he casually added: "Heh, not like I'm the one to talk."

Simmons stared at him with widened eyes. He almost did not dare to move in fear of scaring Grif away from the subject. It was not often that the orange soldier opened up about his past, but now when it finally happened, Simmons had no idea of how to start the conversation. Idiot. "Oh," he finally managed to say, and immediately began scolding himself for giving Grif such a lame answer. How could he be crossing his fingers for Grif to finally open up when he began the conversation with a stupid 'oh'?

Luckily Grif decided to continue speaking his thoughts. "Never knew him. Now that's just a plot-twist waiting to happen," he said lightly, but his voice was too strained for it to sound like a heartfelt joke. "Nah, dude doesn't know I exist. Probably lucked out. Mother always said he was an asshole." He paused and searched for his pack of cigarettes. He fiddled with the package to keep his hands busy. "Kai and I don't have the same father – you'd probably figured that out by now. Doesn't change anything. Still my annoying baby sister." Simmons caught up on the defensive tone in Grif's voice and he wondered how many times he had said it before.

Simmons knew he could not expect Grif to give something without getting something in return, so he said, "I, uh, never had any siblings."

"Right." Grif sounded like he believed it. "Saved yourself a headache there." He took off his helmet but was yet to open his pack. He let out a quiet snicker. "I mean, Blood Gulch have to be fucked by now. Forget what a war can do to an area – you haven't seen my sister's parties."

There was a lump in Simmons' throat. "Grif –" He cut himself off. It was like the words would not leave his lips.

Grif did not seem to have heard him. "She got that from her father. Damn, that dude outshined the circus. I can't remember much, but the others told stories. He didn't stick around. There came other guys, but after my mother got the beard, that crowd kinda disappeared. Not the actual audience – they were fucking digging it."

If Grif had not caught up on what would have been Simmons' horrible attempt at grief counselling, it meant the maroon soldier had the chance to stray away from the hurtful subjects. "So did you ever perform?" He took off his own helmet as well so Grif should not feel naked.

"What the fuck do you think, Simmons?"

To be honest, Simmons did have a hard time imaging Grif in the spotlight. "I don't know. Obviously not the trapezes – man, that could have gotten wrong. But, I guess you have some skill. I mean, you would be brilliant at competitive eating. Couldn't you have been the Oreo guy or something? Shown off how many you could stuff in your mouth."

Grif bit the inside of his cheek and his distant stare revealed he was thinking about Simmons' suggestion. "Huh. That's not a bad idea. If I had shown her that then maybe…" He suddenly trailed off and turned his head but not before Simmons managed to see a glimpse of a darkened expression. Grif was quiet as he struggled to light his cigarette. "I apparently look like my father – the asshole. So my mother was never really happy to see my face." He took a drag. "But she loved Kai. You know, being girl and wearing dresses and pink and all that. She actually said goodbye her. Well, it was a big fat lie about a sale at a bakery in another town and she needed her suitcase to carry all the extra pretzels, but the thought counts. I just got a note with the truth."

Ouch. Simmons imagined coming home to find such a note on the kitchen table and then decided not to put himself in that imaginary scenario again. "That sucked."

"Yeah," Grif said with a cigarette in the corner of his lips. "But she didn't want us, we didn't want her, at least I didn't, and things worked out. Eventually. Then came the draft and we were fucked over again, but…" He tilted his head to look straight at Simmons. There was something in his eyes he could not read. Not even in the one that had once belonged to himself. "You know. Could have gone worse."

"Right." Simmons nodded.

"Your turn," Grif said quickly and smirked at his surprised reaction. "Really, Simmons? You thought I would give away all my embarrassing secrets without expecting something in return?"

"They're not embarrassing," Simmons said quickly. Perhaps he was not the best person to give motivational speeches because he knew that one's childhood could be both pain- and shameful. But of course that was just his own. Grif was different and he should not feel bad about being born under difficult circumstances. "They're just – our past."

"Right," Grif snorted with a roll of his eyes. He did obviously not believe Simmons' words, and he quickly moved on to ask: "So what are your secrets, nerd?"

"Uh." Simmons would usually not talk about his childhood. It was a thing to avoid because there were always nicer things to talk about. Like wars or sickness or removal of teeth – you know, less painful stuff. But Grif had been surprisingly open so far, and Simmons did not want to give any less. "I didn't really have a lot of friends growing up."

"What a shocker."

"Hey," Simmons said rather offended and crossed his arms to soothe himself.

"Sorry," Grif said with a careless shrug. "Continue your heartfelt revelations."

"I, uhm, wasn't really good at sports."

"You don't say."

Simmons was very well aware that he was only stating the obvious. Grif and everyone else knew this already because Simmons was a nerd and no matter how much he tried, he could not hide that. And when people knew you were a nerd, they would figure out the rest. "Uhm, I actually played for the women's team in high school," he finally dared to reveal.

"You're kidding me." For once Grif sounded a bit shocked, but the short laugh afterwards made Simmons wish he had never said it.

"Oh, shut up! Your mother had a beard!" the maroon soldier said quickly to defend himself.

Had he meant to offend, it had not worked. Grif merely shrugged. "Yeah, and it looked good on her. So did you have to wear their uniforms too?"

"You're a dick."

"No, seriously. You're hopeless at sports. And women. What the fuck were you doing on their team?"

Simmons did not have a cigarette to play with, so he looked away and wringed his hands. He cleared his throat. "My father thought I should join."

"Your father wanted you to join the women's team?" Grif raised an eyebrow in wonder.

"Yes! Wait, no. He wanted me to join the boys' team, but I, uh, didn't make it in."

"Wow."

"Shut up. They had some really high standards, okay?" Simmons then muttered under his breath: "No average person could ever jump that high. Hah, I bet that didn't even count in the diversity of height."

Grif let out a small sigh and corrected himself. "I meant: wow, your dad is a douchebag."

"Oh." Simmons looked at the ground. It felt weird to hear the words being said out loud. "Yeah, I guess he is. I always wanted to be a mathlete. But he never really supported my hobbies. He wanted me to-" He cut himself off because he was unsure of how to explain it. "He was not home much but, well, he had his opinions. About my hobbies. And he… I wasn't really the kind of son he wanted."

Grif was staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. It took a while for Simmons to recognize it as pity. It felt weirdly wrong to gain such empathy from the orange soldier. "Look, Simmons, I know your dad was an asshole."

"You… you do?"

He shrugged like it was an obvious thing, and for a moment Simmons feared if this was something the others talked about. Which it couldn't be since he never brought it up and how could they ever had gained that knowledge by themselves? His rant of thoughts was cut off by Grif when he spoke: "Look, if you want Sarge as the replacement, the original one must have sucked bad."

"Yeah… I think - I think he is the reason why I signed up. To make him proud. Or – or prove him wrong."

"You did," Grif said out of nowhere. Simmons gave him a strange look and the orange soldier had to explain himself. "Prove him wrong. Don't get me fucking wrong – you're still a giant nerd. But you're soldier and you're still alive, and that gotta count. And look – take a tip from the Champion of Not-Giving-A-Fuck. Don't try to make assholes proud. That's just wasted work, which is the worst kind of work, just above manual labor."

Simmons grinned because this was something only Grif would say – though, it was also unlike Grif to give advice like these. Strange day. "Thanks, Grif." He tilted his head to stare at the sun. It was good to feel it against his human skin. He had to be careful though – too long out here and he could get burnt. And knowing him and Grif, they could stay like this for a while. Yet, this conversation felt different from ther usual bickering. "Are we having a moment?"

"God, I hope not. Those things are awkward as fuck."

Simmons breathed in through his nose. "Yeah."

Grif turned his head to stare at him with narrowed eyes. "And look – you tell anyone about my past and feelings and shit, I'll tell everybody you were on the girls' team and they beat you up."

"How did you-?"

Grif sighed loudly and his eyes turned towards the sky. "Seriously, Simmons?"

The maroon soldier could not hold back a little sniff. "They were very well-trained." Clearing his throat, he managed to compose himself. "And you're the one to talk. You just got your ass kicked by a whole room of chicks."

"Robot chicks. Very mean robot chicks," Grif corrected him and waved his cigarette at him. "There's a difference, Simmons."

"Doesn't change the fact that you won't be able to walk normally for days."

"Good thing I never wanted kids in the first place. There's too much crazy in my family for me to want to pass it on. Plus I had my share of fatherhood when I had to look after Kai." He snorted rather harshly, but it seemed to be directed at himself. "And you've seen how that went."

"I think you did good, Grif," Simmons said slowly and meant any word. If he had been forced to take care of a younger sibling, he would have fucked up bad. Hell, he had not even managed to make a proper man out of himself.

"Yeah? That's just because we both have parents so shitty that everything else is fantastic in comparison."

Simmons looked away. He did not want to agree or disagree with Grif's last statement. He did not even want to think further about it. So he did the natural thing and tried to steer off the path that were currently heading towards. "How old were you when she left?"

"16." Grif looked at what was left of his cigarette. "Pretty cool in the beginning. Did a lot of crazy stuff." His expression darkened again and he raised his shoulders slightly as if he was taking a defensive stance. Simmons recognized it, he must have looked like that plenty of times before, and understood that Grif did not want to talk about it. Grif dropped his burn-out cigarette and opened his package again. "Want one?"

"Wha – no! Why would you even ask that?!" Simmons shrieked to play along, but he knew that they were changing subject and Grif knew it as well, and to be honest they were both happy with it. This subject was one of their more popular ones and it could take a while before they would touch upon the sore topics again.

"Duh, you have metal lungs, dude. It's not like you can get cancer."

"I'll just clog them, numbnuts! Plus it's a matter of principle. I don't understand why you keep smoking them."

Grif flicked his cigarette a bit too close to Simmons just to provoke. Dumbass. But today Simmons would take it. "Matter of habit."

Simmons would tell him that it was a bad excuse, but that should be obvious already. And he doubted that Grif would even mind what he had to say about it. Grif was like that. There was a reason why he still smoked after so many years with Simmons and his well-meaning attempts to make him quit. Sometimes Simmons wondered why he was still trying. But this topic was better than their past, so Simmons asked: "How old were you when you started smoking?"

"16." So Simmons had a theory. It was not a complicated one – Grif had mentioned that age twice now and it should have been obvious to everyone – and he would not say it out loud. But it was still a theory that could explain why Grif still held onto his cigarettes. Yet, for some weird reason, it only made Simmons more determined to make him quit. But of course Grif was not going to make it easy for him. "So it's way too late to change me now, Simmons."

"You know I'll keep trying."

Grif grinned and leaned closer to blow smoke in his face. The maroon soldier coughed which only caused his smile to widen. He leaned back and said, "On the plus side: none of our parents began a maniac project which resulted in us having to kill them."

Simmons nodded in agreement. "Some things are worth appreciating."

"So what do we do now? Once they are finished with their business, what about us?"

That was a good question so of course Simmons had thought about it. Too bad he had no real answer. "I don't know."

"Do you think we're going home?" Simmons knew Grif well enough to notice the hopefulness in his voice.

"Maybe. Wherever that is."

Grif was quiet and looked around to see if Sarge and Donut and the Blues were nearby, but they could not hear their voices (and they were always loud) which meant they were still alone out here. Not like they did not deserve this break, but Donut had a habit of showing up when he was not supposed to (though, Simmons could not help but feel glad that Donut had showed up unexpectedly once again and proven that he was alive).

When he had decided that they still had their privacy, Grif leaned back and said: "You know, I get it if you want to head back to flip your dad the finger, but if you need a couch, I still have that shitty apartment in Honolulu." Grif suddenly frowned and pulled his head back. "Or, well, I better damn well have. I don't know if Kai remembered to…" He trailed off, his frown growing even bigger, and his eyes flickered when he began a new sentence. "Hey, if we're heading home, they better drop by Blood Gulch so we can pick her up."

"Grif."

"What, Simmons?" Grif's voice was hard and cold, and his glance matched it.

Simmons dodged his eyes but he could not help but say it out loud this time. "It's just… If Kai is listed as KIA it's going to be difficult."

"You mean they might have spelled her name wrong?"

The maroon soldier wrung his hands and wished that someone could else say this to Grif. No, he did not wish that, because the others would fuck it up. They would not care, and if there was one thing you had to be gentle about when to came to Grif it was his sister. Simmons took in a deep breath and decided that he had to do this. "No. Look, if they believe she is dead –"

"Which she isn't."

"Lopez said –"

"-claimed."

Simmons' throat was dry. "Lopez claimed he had –" He wrung his hands tightly when he tried to find the right words, and with his metal hand it was quite painful. He winched. "-secured the entire Blood Gulch."

Grif had crossed his arms. "So? You don't know that. You don't speak Spanish."

"Grif."

"No. Look, just – you don't know my sister, okay? I do, and I'm fucking telling you there's no way she's dead." Grif looked both sad and mad and tired, and Simmons wanted to hug him. Which he could not. Right? Especially now when Grif managed to look so distressed – it would just be awkward and make things worse.

So he tried to explain himself. "I'm just-"

"You know what you're doing?" Grif straightened out his back to stare him down. "You're ruining the moment we were having – no, wait, the one we weren't having 'cause I don't do them. You're ruining a non-existing moment! No fucking way I'll let you sleep on my couch."

So Grif was a work in progress. It had taken years before Simmons had stopped hating him. It had taken even more years for them to become… well, whatever they were now. Simmons had spent years trying to convince Grif to quit smoking. And to cut down on the snack cakes. And to shower more often. And to at least make a fake attempt when Sarge had them running training courses.

He could spend some more years trying to help Grif come to term with this. "I… Sorry."

Grif huffed but looked rather satisfied with the apology. A bit surprised, too. "Yeah, you better be. And when Kai shows up, you owe me 50 bucks."

Simmons did not know what else to do than to nod. "I can help you track her down, if you want to," he offered carefully. "If we ask enough question, they have to at least check it out."

Grif visibly relaxed; his expression softened and his shoulder fell back in place. Simmons found that he could breathe easier. "Alright, you can have the couch again," Grif told him with a sly smile, but then he suddenly froze. "Actually, uh, I kinda use the couch as my bed. So unless you're up to sharing it…" He laughed, and Simmons chuckled as well because of course this was something meant to be funny. When the laughter died, Grif tilted his head and shrugged. "Meh, I guess we'll figure it out. It's not like we have to plan it now. There's still a long fucking way to Honolulu."

Simmons smiled. "Are we talking physically or metaphorically?"

"Oh my god, you are ruining the not-a-moment again!"

"Because if we are talking about distance, we have to measure it in lightyears-"

"Shut up, Simmons!" Grif yelled and Simmons was laughing.

A/N: Tragic backstories! Tragic backstories for everyone! But fluff! So much fluff!
I'm really excited for the next chapter – it was one of my original ideas and almost got a story of its own before I decided I would make a collection of one-shots.