Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Chapter Eighteen:
Dexter Grif's mind was still reeling from what had happened before when he had touched Simmons, so the chubby man didn't say a damn thing to anyone when he ran out of the warehouse.
Of course, when Grif was stressed and unsure of what to do, there was one thing both his body and mind always agreed on: food.
…He was an emotional eater, after all. Not to mention a stress eater, and a lazy eater. One might even use the phrase compulsive eater, but Grif wasn't really one for labels.
"Food as therapy" was so common for him that Cass didn't even question Grif's sudden, out-of-breath appearance at her bar and restaurant. In fact, the brunette didn't even say a word when he plopped down into his usual seat. Within minutes, a plate of his favorite foods was set in front of him, and he began devouring it as a means of destressing.
It was almost working. Grif currently wasn't dwelling on the way his body had practically burned at Simmons' touch, or about the argument they'd had even prior to that incident. Nope, the orange-wearing soldier was trying not to think of the redhead at all. …Of Simmons' eyes dilating, even his cybernetic one, at the sound that Grif had made at their skin-to-skin contact…
Okay, so he was thinking about the cyborg. A little bit. Maybe. At least, he was vaguely recollecting recent events when someone completely unexpected and extremely unwelcome sat down suddenly across from him.
Grif stopped inhaling his food in order to glare at a thoroughly smug Malcolm Hargrove, "What the fuck was with that stunt you pulled at the clinic?" He couldn't help snarling out a second later.
Oh, if he could only fucking get away with punching this guy he'd probably feel a hell of a lot better.
Hargrove, naturally, seemed nonplussed by the amount of venom being thrown his way, "I'm merely trying to look out for Simmons as a concerned family friend." The older man stated evenly, which was naturally interpreted as being smug-as-shit.
Grif couldn't help but snort in disbelief. A man who had essentially "bought" Simmons years ago wasn't just a concerned family friend. He was about to point out the obvious bullshit when Hargrove continued, evidently choosing to ignore the younger man's derisive action.
"I am not sure that your relationship with one another, however you might wish to describe it, is a good one for him."
Grif saw red, slamming his hands on the table and jumping upright, "Well, fortunately for all of us, that's really none of your fucking business." He snarled out.
Oh, yeah. The genetically engineered man definitely wanted to punch Hargrove's weathered old face right about now.
"Oh, calm down." Hargrove reacted to Grif's rather obvious anger dismissively, dabbing at the table with a napkin as if afraid it was dirty (which was bullshit, really. Cass kept her place spotless), "I also happen to know that you do care for him a great deal. In your own way."
When Grif didn't get up any further or move away, Hargrove continued, "I know that you are no doubt well-aware that our efforts to halt whatever is happening with the power malfunctions of this region are not progressing as smoothly as we'd like." The older man noted, almost regrettably.
Grif snorted, "Yeah, no shit." He muttered sarcastically.
Maybe it was just the fact that he didn't trust Hargrove as far as he could throw him, but Grif was actually starting to suspect that the delay in figuring out a solution to the power situation was somehow on purpose.
"It might be in Simmons' and everyone else who has been affected by this' best interests to leave the area for a while." Hargrove carried on as if Grif hadn't spoken, "I have doctors on standby who would love to help them recover from whatever this is. As quickly as possible. They could easily return once things in Chorus are settled."
Grif frowned, saying nothing. While he obviously wanted Simmons and his other friends to feel better, the thought of the cyborg in particular leaving made him very uneasy for some reason.
"Besides," and Hargrove wasn't even done being a pompous asshole yet, "Some time apart might give the two of you a chance to rethink your choices, and what it is you both want out of life."
Grif had to mentally hold himself back by imagining how upset Simmons would be if he did something stupid but oh-so-satisfying right then and there, like throwing a plate of perfectly good food at Hargrove. The fact that he was really tempted to waste food proved how truly ticked off he was.
"Thanks for the advice." Grif somehow managed to grind out before jumping up and promptly leaving the restaurant, leaving the food on his plate as he did so.
He was that fucking pissed.
"…And that's when I saw them holding hands!" Donut squealed excitedly as Doc listened intently, "Isn't that just the sweetest?"
"Lo que quiero saber es por qué tantas de sus historias involucran la mano." {"What I want to know is why so many of your stories involve hand-holding."}
Sheila tilted her head politely, "It sounds like a lovely moment, Donut."
"Agreed," Doc stated cheerily, "And you'd be surprised at the health benefits to hand-holding as well!"
"Really?" Donut tapped his lips thoughtfully, "We should do a little experiment of our own then!"
Doc's face took on a reddish hue just then, complimenting his pink framed glasses, "Y—yes, let's."
Sheila and Lopez both shared a pointed look with one another at the exchange.
The four friends were having what Donut liked to refer to as their "patented watercooler discussions." Sans the actual watercooler, naturally, since they were huddled around Lopez's workbench in the warehouse.
Moments like this provided the four a chance to catch up with one another. Not to mention they could use these discussions to take much needed breaks from work while Sarge went off to spend some quality "date time" with Doctor Grey.
Doc enjoyed these moments with his friends, especially since it gave him an extra opportunity to talk to one friend in particular. His brown-eyed gaze wandered subconsciously towards the pink-wearing Donut standing nearby.
"Say, Doc," said friend was now looking over at the medic with a fond expression bound to turn Doc into mush at any moment, "I really want to thank you again for your help on my Super Duper Secret Project before."
Sheila looked curious at the comment, "Super…Duper Secret Project?" The robot inquired, tilting her head in an interested manner as she had no doubt seen her human friends do in similar circumstances.
"¿Qué clase de nombre es ese?" {"What the fuck kind of name is that?"}
Lopez's question sounded oddly sarcastic, though Doc couldn't be sure. After all, the purple-wearing man didn't want to jump to conclusions too readily. He wasn't the type to judge.
"Oh, it's just a little thing I help Grif with sometimes." Donut told them, "No biggie!"
"... El nombre podría ser engañoso, entonces." {"…The name might be misleading, then."}
"I'm just glad that I could help." Doc blushed again, glad to be privy to Donut's secret. It might be silly, but it made him feel like he and Donut had a stronger connection.
"You did! Grif was so thankful! You could just tell. You know, from his body language." Donut prattled on, grinning, "I still don't know how you managed to get through that hole after I kept ramming and ramming without any success, Doc!"
The two robots glanced at one another again, obviously in regards to Donut's choice of words just then.
"Oh, you mean threading the needle?" Doc asked, completely picking up on what Donut had meant to say, "That can definitely be tricky."
"You're telling me!" Donut nodded his dirty blond head of hair exuberantly, "I even tried getting it all good and wet with my spit beforehand!"
"Alguien, por favor cambie de tema." {"Someone, please change topics."}
No sooner had Lopez spoken then there was a sudden flicker of the warehouse's lights. Donut gasped as both Sheila and Lopez crumpled, the lights coming back on not a second later.
"Are you all right?" Doc heard both himself and Donut ask at the same time once their robotic compatriots started moving again.
"¿Se parece a él?" {"Does it look like it?"}
Lopez pulled himself up first, albeit sluggishly as he helped Sheila get on her feet. His electronic voice sounded a bit stalled as he slowly started the rebooting process.
"We're…we're fine." Sheila assured the two humans with her own stalled voice, "It just…takes a moment for everything…to get back online."
Now it was Doc and Donut's turn to share a look, both anxious and worried. Donut stepped forward to help steady his friends, "Should we…should we get you guys to Sarge? Or to Doctor Grey?" He asked out of natural concern.
"No tendría sentido, con qué tan corta era esta." {"There would be no point, with how short this one was."}
Lopez shook his head as he spoke, Sheila nodding in quiet agreement with whatever he had said.
Donut frowned, and it seemed as if his knack for sometimes understanding the brown-armored robot kicked in because he tried protesting: "But—!"
Sheila patted his shoulder comfortingly, "Thank you, Donut. But, I think it would be for the best if we rested instead."
Lopez nodded, chiming in a second later with an awkward "Gracias" {"Thank you"} of his own.
The two robots walked off then, leaning into one another as they did so. Doc watched them go, a nervous feeling developing in the pit of his stomach.
"Hey, Doc?" When Donut spoke, his voice was hesitant and not at all like the cheerful one that the purple medic had come to know and love.
"Y—yes?" Donut's anxious tone had caused Doc's own voice to come out a bit squeakier than he had intended.
Donut was frowning, his brown eyes glued to the door that Lopez and Sheila had just disappeared through, "I'm worried about our friends."
Doc didn't know how to respond to that, really. After all, he was worried about them too. So, the brown-haired medic did the only thing he could think to do in that moment. He leaned over and wrapped an arm around Donut's shoulders, pulling him closer to his body.
Donut didn't respond by getting shocked or pulling away either. Rather, he surprised Doc by actively leaning into the touch. The two stayed standing like that for a long while, offering each other silent support and warmth.
"Okay. Let's take a break." Washington stated in an annoyingly cheerful voice.
The Freelancer's chipper tone made Lavernius Tucker want to haul off and punch him. If his limbs had the strength or energy to do so, that is. Currently, he was so exhausted that his body had come to a complete halt.
"Oh, thank fuck!" Tucker panted out with his hands on his knees, his entire frame sagging forward as he tried to catch his breath.
Washington watched the dark-skinned man with mild amusement flickering in his gray eyes, "Tired, Tucker?" he asked.
Tucker gave the blond the finger as he continued struggling to breathe, "Why…why the fuck did I have to st—stay behind when the lieutenants got to leave?"
"Ah." Understanding crossed over the older man's features, "I suppose it was only a matter of time before that came up."
"Yeah, you bet your ass it would after I heave a fucking lung up over here!" Tucker glared up at the genetically engineered soldier.
Washington offered Tucker his hand, which the teal-armored soldier grasped tightly so that the Freelancer could pull him up. The younger man tried not to think too much on the warmth that he felt growing in his chest at the contact.
"Training is not only a good way to keep yourself focused, but it is also a good way to distract you from things that might be bothering you." Washington said in way of explanation, almost reluctantly letting go of Tucker's hand a moment longer than was probably necessary.
"And your point is…?" Tucker stared at him blankly, not sure what the hell Wash was getting at and too fucking tired to deal with subtlety.
"As you trained, you weren't thinking at all about Felix's comments in regards to Junior. Right?" The Freelancer questioned, gray-eyed stare surprisingly warm.
Tucker opened his mouth to respond but shut it immediately when he realized just how right Washington was.
Washington shot him a knowing smirk, "See?" He prompted, almost mockingly smug.
"Yeah, okay. You're right about that. I guess." Tucker mumbled, managing to smile slightly at the blond-haired man despite the aches in his muscles and the sweat coating his body, "Thanks, man."
Washington returned the smile, his face taking on a blushing hue that made his freckles pop out even more than normal. It was cute.
…It only lasted a moment, however. "Now let's go for another fifty laps!" Washington exclaimed a second later, far too happily.
"Oh, fuck off!" Tucker groaned at how wide the smile on the Freelancer's face had gotten just then.
"So, things between you and Cass have gotten pretty hot and heavy, huh?" Kai jokingly asked Andersmith as Antoine Bitters and the other lieutenants made their way to the restaurant and entertainment district of Chorus.
"Um…!" Andersmith's face turned a brilliant shade of red at the question, much to the mirth of everyone around him.
"That's so sweet!" Jensen assured the older rookie, patting her friend comfortingly on the arm.
Kai, Volleyball, and Matthews all nodded their heads in agreement with the tan-skinned girl. The show of support caused Andersmith to relax and regard them all gratefully.
"Man, though!" Palomo changed subjects with a thoughtful expression looming on his bandaged features, "Is it just me or have Agent Washington's training methods gotten more severe?"
"No, it isn't just you who has noticed that." Andersmith replied, frowning a bit himself as he walked with a slight limp.
"Yeah, I think the cop's going overboard." Kai threw in her two cents with a grimace as she stretched out a kink in her left shoulder, "The dude clearly doesn't know how to chill. Such a bitch."
"He's just concerned by the mercs being around and the power outages." Bitters spoke up rather quickly, "Give him a fucking break." There was stunned silence all around them then, and Bitters felt his face begin to get flushed in response, "What?" he demanded of everyone testily.
"Nothing." Volleyball quickly stated, "It's just surprising to hear you defend someone. That's all."
Bitters made a "Tch!" sound, turning his multi-colored head of hair to the side in the process. The others all smiled at his embarrassed reaction, making the lieutenant in orange trim feel even more self-conscious than normal.
Without so much as a word, Kaikaina reached over to Volleyball and grasped her hand gently as they walked. The blonde looked over at the younger Grif sibling in mild surprise, her face warming up slightly as she smiled and squeezed back. Kai didn't even seem to notice how red her own face got at the contact between them, or she likely just didn't give a shit.
Palomo glanced over at the two women enviously before his dark-eyed gaze went straight towards Jensen, who was obliviously smiling at the pair. Palomo's fingertips were twitching ever so slightly at his sides, obviously wanting to reach for Jensen's hand.
Bitters could understand how the young man was feeling in more ways than he'd like to admit. He glanced over at Matthews, almost wondering what it would be like to possibly show such affection with him.
Unfortunately, that was around the same time when Matthews had glanced over at him, eyes wide and questioning. "I—is something wrong?" The auburn-haired lieutenant asked worriedly the second that he noticed that Bitters was staring at him.
"N—no. Not a thing." Bitters stated quickly before moving away rapidly at such a fast pace that the other lieutenants had to struggle to keep up with him.
"Hey, Boss Lady," Felix knocked on the open doorway of Vanessa Kimball's office, "You got a minute?"
"Felix." Kimball put down the stylus she had been using to peruse papers and other documents of interest on her tenth datapad of the day, "What do you need? Are conditions all right for you and your men?"
"Oh, they're hunky-dory. No need to worry about that." The slender mercenary stepped inside the office space, hands behind his back, "I just thought I'd let you know about something interesting that I saw today."
"Interesting how?" The dark-skinned woman looked up at Felix curiously then.
"Your ah…co-leader, Doyle?" He asked her, smirking, "I just caught him talking to that Santa A.I. about the symbolic ramifications of that sword he's bonded to."
Kimball frowned, "I imagine Doyle's just curious about the relic he has now."
"Or he's planning on using it in some kind of power struggle later on." Felix looked down at his fingernails in boredom before glancing over at her once more, "You guys aren't exactly subtle about your arguments, you know." When Kimball's frown deepened, Felix put his hands up in the air in mock surrender, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I just thought you should know."
At length, Kimball sighed and nodded, "Thank you, Felix."
"Anytime, boss."
With that, Felix was out the door without a second look back, leaving Kimball alone in her office to wonder whether or not she should talk about this whole matter face-to-face with Doyle.
The lights had flickered, which explained why Grif only remained standing in front of Simmons' apartment door for about ten seconds before he keyed in the code to open it. The reality was that he had long since memorized the redhead's particular code along with his own.
Speaking of the cyborg, the chubby man found a startled Simmons standing in his living room. The nerd's momentary surprise at Grif's sudden entrance turned into his typical flustered annoyance a second later.
"It's called knocking, fat-ass." Simmons told him tiredly, no real venom behind his words.
The orange-wearing man ignored the bitchy kiss-ass, "There was another power outage." Grif noted without preamble, looking the lankier man over, "You okay?"
The stricken look that crossed over the cyborg's face just then had Grif remembering Hargrove's words from earlier. He debated nearly telling Simmons about their conversation, but decided against it. Something about Hargrove's offer just didn't sit well with him, even beyond the implied separation. That wasn't even taking into account how much of an asshole Grif thought the older man was.
The look dissipated from the redhead's features a moment later as he shook his head, "I—I'm fine." He informed Grif before shooting the genetically engineered man a pointed look, "I should be asking if you're okay."
Grif blinked dark eyes in surprise, "Me?"
"Yeah, you." Simmons nodded, "With what happened before…"
Oh, right. The maroon-wearing man didn't even need to finish that thought. Grif knew exactly what he was referring to: the incident when Simmons' mere touch had practically unglued him. Watching Simmons as his freckled face began to blush in remembrance of what had happened between them earlier, Grif felt his face heat up too.
"It's…it's close to time, right?" Simmons managed to squeak out, face turning a brilliant shade of red as he did so, "For your…ah, release?"
Grif frowned, knowing that what Simmons said was true but really not wanting to deal with the issue at the moment.
Simmons walked over and reached out to touch Grif consolingly on the arm, "It's…it's okay, Grif, I—!"
No sooner had the cyborg done just that than a wave of heat so intense that Grif nearly lost his balance washed over him. Grif stumbled, the sensation and tingling feeling still running through his body even after a surprised and blushing Simmons had dropped his arm to the side.
The orange-wearing man recognized the sensation now. He hadn't felt it so intensely or as strongly as this since…
…Since that night years ago when he and Simmons had sex.
Grif wasn't sure what to make of the realization, shaking his dark-haired head as he took a quivering step away from the thoroughly confused Simmons. All the chubby man could focus on was the redhead's green, organic eye wide in shock.
"I…I can't really talk about this yet." Grif informed the slightly younger man once his erratic breathing suddenly dropped to at least a somewhat normal pace, "S—sorry, Simmons."
Simmons, concerned, reached out for him again unthinkingly, "Grif…"
Grif didn't stay to hear whatever neurotic rambling Simmons would try to sputter out. The tan-skinned man was already turning and heading out the apartment door as fast as his feet could carry him, leaving a flabbergasted nerd behind even though he wanted nothing more than to stay.
But, as much as he really wanted to be with Simmons at the moment, he recognized that he needed to talk to someone else who would have some experience with what he was currently going through. Hopefully the kiss-ass would forgive him for leaving in an uncharacteristic hurry.
As much as the idea filled his admittedly lazy-ass with a looming sense of dread, Dexter Grif knew he was going to have to talk to his little sister to try to figure out what the fuck was going on.
Author's Notes: I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to get out! The last few days have been pretty hectic, and that took a toll on my writing. But, hopefully this chapter was worth the wait! Lots of cute moments were had, as well as some more serious ones.
Next up, Grif has a "sort-of" talk with Kai about his condition. That should be interesting! XD Kimball might end up confronting Doyle too, which will probably not go over greatly. Just what is Hargrove and the mercs' endgame? We shall have to wait to see!
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! :D