Shake
That Warm Feeling

[Shake: verb used with object, to agitate or disturb profoundly in feeling:]

Bitters slammed the door behind him.

It was not something that unusual for him to do; most days would end with either Palomo getting on his nerves, or some of the assholes who were his fellow Rebels would comment on his armor color and it would end up in a fist fight.

The results were the same; most days would end with a pissed off Bitters marching into his room, slamming the door behind him, and letting himself fall directly into his bed.

Not that Bitters was the type of person to bury his head in the pillow and wail for hours.

That type of person was Matthews.

Bitters would lie on his back, stare at the ceiling, and wonder why the fuck the world was so unfair. Sometimes he would crush some kind of paper in his hands, most often the paper that had been around a snack bar, and he would throw the ball at the ceiling and it would bounce back at him. Sometimes he would catch it was ease, continuing the meaningless attempt to pass time, and sometimes it would hit him in the face, and Bitters would once more wonder why the world was so unfair.

It was all those small questions: why did his home turn into a war zone? Why had Kimball forbidden alcohol? Why did they have a limited supply of snacks? Why did none of their Generals live long enough to actually change something? Why did Bitters get stuck in pink armor? Why did his Captain have to run off on a suicide mission? Why did no one really give a shit about Chorus and the Rebels?

Bitters had been too busy staring daggers at the ceiling to notice that he was not alone. "Did… Did Felix find the Captains?" Matthews asked from his bed, voice weak enough to reveal that he already knew the answer.

So Bitters never really put effort into replying.

He merely turned over to stare at the wall.

Matthews asked no further. He did not even come over to pull Bitters' arm, demanding to get an answer because they had all been waiting anxiously for news ever since Felix left to find them.

Not that Bitters truly cared at this point; his Captain had left him. And now he was dead.

Who the fuck even cared any longer?

At least now he no longer had a reason to wear pink.

Bitters closed his eyes when Matthews began to weep quietly.

"What the fuck, Simmons?" In order to rub the swelling bruise on his chin, Grif tore of his own helmet. He was now able to glare daggers at the cyborg who had pulled back and was now stuck in a statue-like stance again. "What is wrong with you?!"

"M-me?!" Simmons managed to make a stutter sound angry. "You're the one who- who-"

"What?!" Grif picked up his new alien gun. Not that he was going to shoot Simmons or anything but he had this horrible feeling that everything good was going to be taken away from him, and he could at least be allowed to keep this new cool toy.

"You almost got yourself killed. Again," Simmons hissed and brushed some dust off himself with angry swipes. He was trying his best not to look at Grif, even taking a step further away from him as if to join the others.

Normally Grif would have loved to test his limits, pushing Simmons just past the edge where he would drop the anger and sob instead. Grif could somewhat handle Simmons' tears. It was always awkward as hell but at least it had happened enough time before for him to feel somewhat practiced at it. It was better than a truly pissed off Simmons anyway.

But now Simmons' tone had that annoying edge to it; the same disgusted tone the Drill Sergeant back in Basic would use to insult Grif whenever he failed at an obstacle course. It brought back not so fond memories of Blood Gulch and Grif wondered how the fuck the Rebels had done with Simmons.

"What the fuck does that mean?!" he sneered back.

"Oh, you know!"

"No, I don't! That's why I am fucking asking you!"

"W-well, you should know!" Simmons' little stutter was back, signaling the he was either about to lose face or that he was in fact so angry that Grif should cover his face, just in case the nerd lashed out again. "Just because you're too stupid to realize why doesn't mean you're making it better!"

"Are we just shouting 'cause the teleportation made you deaf?!" Grif yelled back. "'cause, fine, yeah, we can do that!"

"Why are you such a dumbass?!"

"I don't even know what we are talking about!"

"Exactly!"

"Hey, you!" They both froze and turned their heads to see that everyone else was staring at them, with the exception of Carolina and Grey who were dealing with the Freelancer's wound. Church continued to bark at them from Tucker's shoulder. "Lovebirds. We seriously don't have time for this, so I'm letting you choose between three options – yeah, I'm that gracious. In two seconds you two are either going to kiss, slap each other again or walk away. Whatever you choose, that's the end of the this stupid scene that we seriously don't have time for."

"What?!" Simmons sputtered, turning to face the AI. "You can't-"

"One."

Grif was still glaring at Simmons. "Fuck you."

"Two."

The countdown ended. Simmons had turned his head so he was meeting Grif's glare. The cyborg was still hiding his face with his helmet, and Grif doubted he would take it off any time soon.

The two of them stared at each other for a brief second and then they both turned around and walked in opposite directions.

Simmons stopped dead in his tracks when he reached Sarge. "Good to have you back, Sarge," he said lowly, with a tone painfully happy enough to make Donut reach out and put a hand on his shoulders.

"I think-"

"See, Donut, I was sure our plan would work," Simmons cut him off with a steady voice. He turned to Sarge again, "I was the one who organized the rescue mission, sir."

"I see," Sarge huffed. "Only proves the Rebels are just as slow as last time! What did you have them do – pour you ice tea?"

Simmons let out the smallest sigh. "Yeah, something like that."

The Reds had gathered in their own little crowd, minus Grif was who marching away with a pack of cigarettes in his hand. That left the Blues to create their own little group.

"Oh, fuck you," Tucker sneered at Church.

"What?"

"While you've been on your own happy-go-lucky adventure, I've been dealing with a heartsick idiot! And now I thought we'd finally be over all that whining and then you had to come screw it up."

The AI snorted. "Oh, cry me a river."

"Yeah, Simmons did that sometimes," Caboose said with a small sigh and a shake of his head, remembering how the Red soldier would let out those sad noises if he saw something orange.

"You weren't there, you can't judge," Tucker snapped back. "Being the Love Doctor isn't easy, you know."

"I do have to admit that could have gone more gently," Wash admitted, casting a glance in the direction Grif had walked off in.

Tucker took a step closer to the Freelancer. "Right, you were the one stuck with Grif. Can't imagine that that has been easy."

"Well," Wash said, voice changing into that tone that made Church snort in the background. "It wasn't exactly the most preferable situation."

They remained like that for as long as they could, visors facing each other until Church began to flicker in discomfort behind them.

The moment did not last for long, however, since Caboose decided to jump between them, causing them both to pull back. "Are we having a staring competition again?!"

It was, strangely enough for all of them, by instinct that Wash was the one who went after Grif when Carolina began to talk about laser weapon. The Reds were still discussing why or why not the Rebels were better than the Feds and why the color light-ish red improved camouflage, so Wash decided to let them finish that conversation without interruptions. Mainly because he did not want them to ask for his opinion.

Grif's helmet was still off, now lying on the ground. The orange soldier himself was resting beside it, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff.

There was a cigarette between his fingers, and he had opened his mouth to exhale the smoke towards the falling sun. When Wash came close enough to let his footsteps be heard, Grif turned his head sharply.

Recognizing the Freelancer, his body language relaxed a bit but his eyes remained narrowed. "'sup?" he asked, waving carefully so he could make sure his cigarette did not go out. "Want a smoke?"

"Wha- No." Wash turned his head, seeing the weapon lying discarded next to the helmet. "We actually need to borrow the rifle that-"

"Sure," Grif replied, looking at the horizon again. "Whatever."

His bored, distant tone caused Wash to halt once he had the weapons in his hands. He shifted a bit as he considered, and then he finally said, "So Simmons seemed a bit… distracted," he said, one hand reaching behind to rub his neck awkwardly. "Tucker says denial isn't a permanent state and-"

"I'm gonna stop you there." Grif finally turned around to face him again. The cigarette was hanging from the corner of his mouth and his eyes were still narrowed, though this time in curiosity. "You want to talk about relationship stuff? With me? Like that is not a seriously awkward thing to do?"

"Well, when you put it like that-"

"No, sure, tell me all about the stuff Tucker did to you when he got you within touching range again-"

"Alright, okay." Wash held up his hands. "Point taken. We should change the subject."

"No shit," Grif said. He stared at the jungle below him, hesitating, but then rose from his spot with a groan. Not like he could stay here the rest of the day. Shit was bound to happen again before dinner time if his life followed the usual routine.

And he knew Simmons. He knew that the nerd had been spooked in order to act like this. Not that it made the situation any less shitty.

But a freaked out Simmons just needed some time to chill down. It reminded him of the alley cat that Kai would reach out to pet when she was younger; when you rushed out to grant them affection they would either hog their backs and hiss, or run away as fast as they could with a terrified shriek.

Grif threw the cigarette to the ground, putting it out with the bottom of his boot.

Wash had soundlessly begun to wander back to the others, the strange weapon safe within his hands, and Grif decided to follow him. Not really much else to do; if he stayed here chances were Sarge would come to pick him up eventually, and that meant an increased risk of a red boot kicking him in the back and sending him over the edge into the jungle below.

Grif had been sent over enough cliffs for a lifetime so joining the others was probably the best choice.

He hesitated only once, foot frozen an inch above the ground as he prepared to take the next step. The realization was slow to creep up his spine but when it did he frowned.

And then he quickly pushed his helmet back on his head.

But it was a strange thought, really; the fact that they had almost died but hadn't. Not that it was that surprising since facing certain death and getting away with it just seemed to be their main skill for some reason.

Still, it did not change the fact how weird it was to leave another dead base behind. Leave all the rampage and the bodies behind because that was apparently their life by now.

And Grif briefly wondered if Felix and Locus' plan would succeed, and the Reds and Blues would leave behind a dead planet and move onto the next adventure.

Apparently Simmons and Donut had been promoted to Captains, and Grif was sure as hell happy he was not stuck with that responsibility. Just look at what had happened at the Fed base.

Grif had to look down just to be sure there was not any dried blood on his boots.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and when he recognized the pink glove he quickly shrugged it off.

"It's good to have you back, Grif," Donut told him with a warm voice. "I hope the Feds weren't too rough with you."

Well, if you looked away from the harsh introduction and Locus' constant lurking, the Feds had actually respected him more than anyone else since he had been forced into military. Kinda sad when you thought about it like that. "Yeah, 'cause I'm a delicate flower," Grif snorted.

Grif was thick-skinned. Whether this was something he had been born with or something he had developed was a question too complex and sober for him to deal with right now.

But it was a good thing he could deal with most shit being thrown at him since the rest of the day did not go better from there. First he just had to point out the connection between the future cubes and the laser rifle because it was so fucking obvious – wait, no, it was not obvious. Not like the others could see it. Grif was obviously a genius, even Carolina agreed with him, though she held back a bit when it came to the praising part.

But of course his asshole teammates had their own creative comments on the situation.

"That's your deductive reasoning?" Simmons hissed. "They're related because they're both orange and glowy."

"So?"

"So?!" the nerd sputtered. "If I heated your armor to a thousand degrees, would you think you're related too?"

With the tone Simmons had going it would not be too surprising if he actually decided to test his theory by throwing Grif into a volcano or something. Or maybe his angry stare would just burn through the visor and melt Grif on the spot. Who knew at this point?

"Fahrenheit or Celsius?" Donut asked but like always no one really bothered to answer him.

Grif fought his inner frustration and the urge to stomp in the ground. "Oh come on, there's clearly a resemblance!"

And enter Sarge. "Oh, of course. Just like the uncanny resemblance between apples and fire trucks, or Caboose and the Pacific Ocean, or Lopez and a dingleberry!"

"Okay," Grif said through clenched teeth. "I get it."

But of course the Blues should not be forgotten.

"Hey Grif, let me ask you a question, you ever get your sister confused with mustard? You know, since they're both yellow and cheap?"

Fuck holograms, and fuck the whole no-flesh-and-blood-body-is-cool-thing. Church deserved some bullets for that, even if the laws of physics forbade it. Fuck those laws anyway.

Also, fuck Simmons.

Fuck this planet in general.

Tucker almost did a double take when he caught himself checking if Simmons and Donut were hurrying the fuck up. It was then he remembered that they team had been expanded and in a way also divided. Splitting up usually meant a Red and a Blue Team 'cause that was obviously the quickest line to draw.

But it was suddenly hard to forget it was not just the four of them anymore. Not that he was complaining or anything. Wash and the others were back and that meant a mission fucking accomplished.

Yeah, and Church and Carolina had appeared as well. Hadn't seen that coming. Hadn't really fought for it either.

When he caught Wash turning his head to look for Grif and Sarge it became obvious he was not the only one with new habits. Being split up had apparently fucked with their team dynamics.

At least Grif and Simmons'. Obviously.

Church might have stopped them from bickering out loud but now the idiots were just pacing around with a good distance between each other, and Tucker could feel the tension growing. And he doubted it was the good kind of tension that would actually bring them anywhere near a bed.

Simmons had been fucking pining and Tucker had been forced to listen to all of it and now the entire team was back together, and Church just had to ruin it by putting Simmons under time pressure. Just one more thing to blame the AI.

Wash placed himself next to Tucker and now they were both staring at Simmons who was pacing around in the distance, hands being clenched into fists only to stretch out his fingers two seconds later.

If Tucker had learned some things while training with Simmons it was that the cyborg could not handle pressure or feelings.

So, yeah, things weren't really going that great for Simmons right now.

Well, okay, the entire situation was probably shit. Felix was apparently an asshole – not that he had not been an asshole before but now he was a goddamn backstabbing asshole which was reaching a whole new level. Good for him – and they had been separated from their armies that were still trying to kill each other.

But…

Tucker let his eyes flicker towards Wash for a moment.

Yeah, not everything had gone to shit, at least.

"No wonder Red Team doesn't have drama," Tucker told Wash before the all gathered around Carolina who would give them the teleportation cubes, "- they should not be allowed to have it. They don't know how to handle it."

"Do you ever wonder why we're here?" Grif asked as he kicked over another trash bag. He was not really sure what he had expected to find under it. Maybe a cockroach. But it was not like he had been trying to find anything either. Just trying to look busy.

Simmons shot him a glance from the other side of the room. "Because Sarge ordered us to search for supplies while he and Donut find the manifest," he replied dryly.

Grif suspected it was Donut's plan to force the two of them to work together. So fuck Donut.

The canyon felt even smaller than how he remembered it.

"Right," Grif said and proceeded to kick another trash bag.

Simmons straightened out his body from his crouched position. "Nothing here but trash," he said dismissively and already began to walk out of what had been their make-shift home. "It's pretty fucking obvious that you have been living here."

"Wow, did someone piss on your calculator this morning or what?" Grif asked as he followed him outside into the canyon. Simmons made sure to walk even faster, keeping a meter between them.

"Well, we did have an ally who turned out to be traitor and we then discovered a plot designed to kill off an entire planet that is now depending on us and we are left unable to contact our men. So, yeah, not the best day, actually," the cyborg replied, tone just as sharp as before.

"Right. So why are you pissed at me?"

Simmons actually halted for a bit, hands turning into fists at his side. "Because you messed me- everything up," he said, quickly fixing his mistake before it could sound like an actual confession.

He began to walk again, heading towards the area where the Blues had been living.

Grif continued to follow him but refused to pick up his speed. "See, I'm not even going to ask if you want to talk about it," he said calmly. "'cause I don't think I care to hear it."

"Good," Simmons sneered back. "Saves me the headache."

One of the computer screens was turned on. Grif walked closer to investigate. It was, of course, showing Donut's Basebook profile. Somehow he had received four notifications.

Grif considered messing with it but who would even notice? Seemed to be a waste of effort. Just like looking for supplies.

Their mission seemed rather fruitless. Not the part about finding the manifest – that was something they had not tried before.

But they had spent their first days in this canyon just searching for supplies. That had been a rather complicated task since everything had been thrown around during the crash. Guns and body limbs everywhere.

So now they were searching around every cupboard, every crack, under every surface to make sure they had not overlooked something. Grif had already grabbed some snack bars back at Red Base and shoved them in his armor pockets. But if this mood continued he doubted he would still have them when they met up with the others. A snack sure could lighten up the situation now…

Something red caught his attention and he crouched down on the other side of the big monitor. A piece of the metal had fallen off, revealing the space inside. It was mostly filled with tech stuff that Grif would never be able to recognize but he was fairly sure that was a box of ammo in the furthest corner.

He had no idea how it had ended there, but then again, he had no idea how that ripped off hand had landed under the box he had lifted in his search for snack cakes the first day after they had crashed. Well, the landing had been rather messy. Things flew around.

He reached out with his left hand, trying to squeeze between the metal parts.

Twisting and turning his hand, his fingers had just brushed against the box when he was pulled backwards, a hand grasping his shoulder. Simmons was revealed to be hovering above him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Grif had opened his mouth to tell him he was fucking doing their job so there was no reason to shout at him but Simmons continued, "That's the computer core! And it's overheating because of course it is because Donut is using Basebook!"

"So-"

"Your hand," Simmons said through gritted teeth before turning his back to him. "Idiot."

Grif looked down at said hand, noticing how there seemed to have burned a hole through it. He even spotted something red underneath. But- "That's your hand," he pointed out. "It's fucking useless anyway."

He had felt a slight tingle before but nothing enough to alert him. Sarge had never been that great at fixing all the nerves so his donated limbs were not that good at reacting to pain. Rather useful, actually, living the life Grif had been forced to live.

"Good to know you are appreciating my selfless sacrifice," Simmons said dully as he crouched down.

It took Grif a second to realize the cyborg was now the one reaching for the ammo. "Hey, Einstein, the thing is still hot."

"I know," Simmons said but then pulled out his arm, holding the red package tightly. The back side of his glove was smoking slightly. "Metal hand."

"No shit, genius," Grif said, standing up. "You still need it to shoot with later."

Simmons let go of the package to check how if the limb had been seriously damaged. He looked up slightly. "Well, so do you, numbnuts."

"But it's your stupid program," Grif had to remind him. He was about to blow air at the burn wound when he realized he was wearing a helmet. Oh well. The wound was not very big and he could still flex his fingers.

This was just Simmons blowing things out of proportions. Like always.

Simmons groaned, and for a moment Grif wondered if his cyborg limb actually hurt. But the maroon soldier had his hand on his helmet, apparently turning off a call. "Stupid Donut," he muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, I'm sure he has a lot of thoughts to share about us at the moment," Grif said with a shudder, already fearing when Donut would choose to call him instead. "Too late for me; I already had Wash coming over to comment on our relationship. Put that on the list of stuff I don't want to happen ever again."

Even with his armor on it was clear that Simmons was frowning. He then pulled away, stepping backwards. "But… we're not in a relationship," he said, as if that was the end to that and Wash was obviously an idiot for not realizing this. Sarge called out in the distance, something about the manifest, and Simmons left to investigate.

Grif remained where he was.

Well, leave it to Simmons to point out the well-known facts.

Today was the day, as Kimball had put it.

To either die or live.

Probably die, things considered.

Huh.

The others wanted to do this, of course. Lot of stuff to fight for. Freedom, revenge.

Their Captains.

Bitters had seen it coming because how else could it have ended? Nothing good seemed to happen on Chorus. People like the Captains… Like Donut…The planet had not allowed them to live.

Good men, as Smith had called them. The war had taken good men. No shit.

Well, at least the shit would end today. In some way.

Bitters put on his pink helmet.

A/N: I had a hard time writing this chapter after watching episode 6. It just all felt so wrong. For non-FIRST Members – you guys have something to look forward to, trust me.

So I skipped a lot of dialogue in those scenes. Mainly because the Reds don't play a big role in the conversation, and I do not want to just add details to the transcript. So I hope you can all keep up, even if I jump around like crazy.

Next chapter will also include Simmons' confused and panicked thoughts about all this. I had to cut the chapter here, though the next chapter might be a bit longer.

Also, have I mentioned how mad I get when the others mock Grif, even when he turns out to be the smart one? 'cause it makes me mad. Like, I am a bitter human being. I have a lot of grudges. Don't get me started on Doc 'cause I have been sending him the stink-eye since season 2. …I'm very protective of Grif, okay?

I am slowly abandoning , meaning I won't be publishing new RvB stories here. Don't worry; my current stories will be finished here as well, but after that you can all find me on archieveofourown as RiaTheDreamer