A/N: This came to me right as I was about to crawl into bed, so I had to write it down. I'm not totally sure where the idea came from. Am I ever, really?
Genre: General/I won't say angst, but it is sad.
Pairings: None
Rating: T
Summary: Didn't you know? She asked. People like Grif…they smoke because they know smoking's killing them. They want to die.
Warnings: Mentions of attempted-suicide, smoking, light cursing.
Suicide Cigarette
Kerry had always admired her brother. She always saw him as so strong and stubborn and smart. She knew he was those things, but she also knew he was far from happy.
He had raised her by himself, making sure she was safe and got everything she needed. He looked out for her, always put her before his own needs. Never for a minutes had she ever hated her brother.
When Kerry was younger, back when she was depressed and began cutting, she resented how weak she was compared to Grif. She wished she could be as strong and independent as him, at the same time telling herself she never could be.
She though, naively, that he couldn't crumble and resort to something like what she was doing. It wasn't until year later, when Grif caught her cutting and made her stop, did she realize the truth. She may be color blind, but that didn't stop her form seeing things how they really were.
She was always on Grif's case about smoking. Kerry often found herself lecturing him or simply taking the cancer sticks out of his mouth herself. Sometimes she'd just throw away whole, unopened cartons. Grif eventually resorted to hiding them from her in ingenious places.
Once, she told him that for every cigarette he smoked again, she'd cut herself. He tried to quit after that, he really did. Yet, the pull of something much more addicting than nicotine always beckoned him. He just got better at hiding the cigarettes, smoking them secretly, and washing the scent away or simply masking it. For his sake, Kerry didn't keep to her word.
Now at Blood Gulch, Kerry found herself sitting casually with Simmons, both watching Grif smoke a few meters away, just out of earshot. His helmet was off and he looked up at the mundane sky-he'd-seen-so-many-times-before. There was a content look on his face as the man puffed his cigarette.
"I don't know why the hell he always smokes so goddamn much," Simmons grumbled. "I'm constantly telling him how bad it is-especially since he's using my organs now-but he won't listen. It's like he thinks he's fucking invincible." Kerry turned to the green-eyed man curiously.
"Didn't you know?" she asked. "People like Grif…they smoke because they know the smoking's killing them. They want to die." Simmons stared at her, eyes widening. After a small pause, the young woman continued.
"They want to die, but they're only killing themselves slowly. They have something they want to do before they finally kick the bucket, someone they want to keep safe." She looked down now. "They…they just want to make sure someone they love is doing good and can manage on their own before finally finishing themselves off."
As she went quiet again, this time with no intention to add anything, Simmons watched Grif wordlessly. By now he had finished his previous cigarette and was halfway done with another. His head was still tilted up towards the unchanging sky, a look of pure relief on his face the likes Simmons had never seen on him before.
Kerry, after a while, followed where Simmons' green eyes were pointed. She settled her gaze on Grif, her brother in turn watching her from the corner of his eye.
