Based on the awesome AI AU made by goodluckdetective!

Wondering Why We're Here
Chapter Fourteen: Grif: Labels

Phi had a loose understanding of most things outside of probabilities and calculable sums, general thought projects and perusing retrievable data. But unlike most of his brothers he understood people pretty intimately.

Or, perhaps, not people so much as he understood what was between people.

He could pull out a map of every person he knew and outline, in detail, their relationships, why they had such relationships, and what he as an AI could do to better those ties.

It's what he did.

That all as it were, if there was one person he could make an argument for him understanding intimately, it would be his assigned partner. Grif.

Grif didn't build relationships he didn't have to. Phi had a whole file on why – things he had observed, official files and histories, some of the siphoned memories that came from sharing a brainspace with someone for a while – so he understood the need to back off at times, not push Grif into forcing new relationships rather than work on the ones he had already.

That was fine. Cool even.

And while the press for breaking ground with Simmons was always a concern hot on Phi's mind, it was just as fun and rewarding to the AI to plant seeds for other things.

The other day he got Grif not to yell at Bitters and it was like Christmas come early.

But one thing the AI could not peg, no matter how hard he tried, was Sarge.

Zeta's whispers about the stress of dealing with Sarge was enough to put Phi on guard with the rest of the AI, of course. AI were minds made of stronger stuff than that of organic tissue, so the idea of being drawn into nervousness by a single human was something of a larger deal already, but for Phi things got even more personal.

Sarge was Grif's commanding officer, and while that certainly meant something to Phi, and on a level the AI could comprehend to Grif as well, there was something just not right about the way they spoke to each other.

"Grif! The Lieutenants are in need of a moving target – there's no better way to prepare one's mind, body, and soul for war than to have already had experience with bettering the world through realistic violence. So I'm going to need you to stand in front of this big red bull's eye and do what you do best: don't move."

Grif sighed, turning in the hall to look into the training room. Phi projected to his shoulder, looking mildly concerned at Grif before taking note of Zeta's red glare waving emphatically in front of Sarge's vision.

"Colonel! That is not an approved method of training!"

"Oh, don't turn Blue on me, you," Sarge gruffed back at Zeta, trying to swat through the hologram like he was a fly.

Phi crossed his arms. "Probability of surviving a firing squad at fifty feet is–"

"Ignore it, Phi, it's not happening," Grif grunted, putting his hands on his hips. "Hey, Sarge! The war's fucking over. Did you forget that part?"

"But there's no need to stop training for the next one!"

Grif shook his head. "How about no then?"

"How about I shoot you with my shotgun court martial then!?"

"I'd like to see you try!" Grif snapped back just before there was a pop of bullets.

Phi began to run emergency protocol, began to start first contact with Doctor Grey's hospital, start warming up the healing unit when– bullet trajectory stats came up and he realized in utter confusion that they were dropping like flies only ten feet from Sarge. He and Grif stood at about thirty.

When Sarge pumped the shotgun and shot again, Phi turned to Grif. "Is he…"

"He modified his gun to only shoot at a shorter range," Grif responded with a roll of his eyes before he flicked off his C.O. and began back down the hall.

"So he wouldn't have shot you?" Phi asked, ignoring Zeta's frustrated mumbling across the AI shared frequency.

"Oh, if I was closer, I'm sure I'd have a few dents in my armor," Grif responded casually. "But yeah, Sarge knows his gun wouldn't reach that far away. He's tried it out enough times. You should have seen the time he replaced our Warthog's gun with a canon that was modified with an EMP."

Phi thought over the information. "Wouldn't that…"

"Yeah, took like fifteen minutes to start up the Warthog every time we shot it, stupid piece of shit," Grif snickered.

"Hm," Phi responded, catalogueing the new information to be processed. Once more, his diagramming for Sarge and Grif's relationship came under question. He turned to his partner. "Grif? I am running across a discrepancy."

"That sucks," Grif said, obviously with little to no concern for not knowing what such a discrepancy could be.

"It's about you and Sarge," he said. "I don't know how to document your relationship."

"Mark my words then," Grif said, waving his hand in the air as if it was revealing each word. "Pain. In. My. Ass."

"From buckshot?"

"No, just in general."

Phi crossed his arms. "But, that's what you have Private Donut and Captain Simmons under as well."

"And Lopez," Grif reminded him.

"But I subcategorize those as 'love,'" Phi explained, rubbing his head. "Will I have to do the same for Sarge?"

"Uh, do you have to talk about this out loud in public? Seriously, we've talked about this, dude. Don't use the 'L' word around here," Grif groaned.

"But they are the same category in a sense?" Phi asked.

"God, if it'll make you feel better, yes. Yes they are. In a way," Grif said firmly. He stopped, seeing Phi was about to protest, and held up a finger to silence the AI. "Look, Sarge and I? We're complicated. But if love was easy, we'd be writing songs about better things. Like pizza." He paused, turned his head toward the mess hall. "Speaking of which, I just thought of something better we could be doing."

Phi recorded, documented, and underscored every word as they went along toward the mess hall. He couldn't help but smile after Grif. He could see that even he could learn a lot from his partner about love.