Simmons gets upset over something and runs off, leaving Grif to find him.
Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~Tuckington
~Sarge x Doctor Grey
~Kimbalina
~Jensen x Palomo
~Bitthews
~Docnut
Other Notes for This Story:
~Post-Season 13
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Effort
Where the fuck would someone hide in a shitty town like this?
Dexter Grif couldn't help but ask himself that very question for what was undoubtedly the umpteenth time as he walked through the quickly rebuilding streets of Armonia searching for one Richard "Dick" Simmons.
Wasn't like there was a Comic Con going on right now. That wasn't until next month, something the chubby soldier knew because the currently missing redhead had already been busy planning their matching cosplay outfits.
…Secretly, Grif kind of liked the nerd's picks, but he was getting too much of a kick pissing Simmons off by vetoing every idea. Never let it be said that Grif didn't try to maintain his asshole reputation. He enjoyed it too fucking much, especially when it annoyed the hell out of Simmons.
He was running out of "nerd places" to search, and there was still no maroon-armored soldier in sight. Naturally, that left Grif asking a simple fucking question: if he was a nerdy kiss-ass like Simmons, where the hell would he be?
Fuck, Grif was so desperate he had even checked with Sarge of all people, though the older man in red was too busy making googly eyes at Doctor Grey to even effectively threaten him as per their usual interactions. Sarge's crazy hard-on was so obvious that Grif had to quickly step out of the clinic before he witnessed things that he'd have to bleach his brain for.
The next person he had tried to ask about Simmons was Jensen. However, the braces-wearing brunette was too preoccupied with showing Palomo how to use a fire extinguisher to know where her captain was, both lieutenants oddly red-faced about something-or-other when he had asked. They didn't have his answer, so Grif couldn't bring himself to care about whatever it was they seemed embarrassed by.
Next was Lopez, who was as generally unhelpful as always. The brown-armored robot simply muttered something in Spanish, walking away before Grif had even finished asking the question about Simmons' whereabouts.
Donut had been preoccupied with getting ready for his fifth official date with Doc, so Grif didn't even bother asking him. The apathetic man didn't feel like he was up for a sixth conversation on appropriate date wear from the youngest member of Red Team, and given how focused Donut was on fabric patterns he seriously doubted the pink-wearing man had even seen Simmons.
The Reds were pretty much no help, so that left him with no choice but to start asking the Blues. Not that he was expecting better results given the fact that it seemed like Simmons had gone out of his way to make himself scarce. Asshole.
Grif would be super pissed (and maybe a little proud) if he found out that Simmons had snuck away to nap and shirk duties without fucking inviting him along too.
"Doesn't he have a GPS signal you could use to track him?" Tucker had inquired from his apartment's doorway when Grif had finally gotten around to asking him if the dark-skinned man had seen Simmons.
"That's me, dude." Grif had scoffed in return, "Pay attention."
Tucker raised his teal-armored hands up in the air, "Hey, whatever you two do in your married life is your business."
"Wait a minute." Washington spoke up from behind Tucker just then, "Simmons put a tracker on you?"
Grif really didn't want to dwell on what Tucker and Washington had been doing before he had knocked on the door given their flushed faces. Honestly, he questioned why Tucker had opened said door to begin with. But, then Grif remembered it was Tucker he was talking about and the Meta suit wearing man probably wanted all of Chorus to know that he was finally getting some from anyone ("Bow-chika-bow-wow!").
"What, like that isn't normal?" Grif raised a dark-colored eyebrow incredulously, leaving before an obviously flabbergasted Washington could say anything else on the subject.
Well, that had turned out to be a fucking waste of time. Like practically most of his fucking time in the military. Why should anything be different?
He didn't even bother checking in with Caboose, knowing that the blue-armored soldier was on a "super-secret mission" of tag with Freckles and Andersmith thanks to Tucker wanting to have time alone with Washington for the night ("Bow-chika-bow-wow!").
Grif also wasn't nearly suicidal enough to bother Carolina and Kimball on the rare evening that they took off together. There probably wouldn't be any safety cones to protect his balls this time around.
He had nearly been tempted to order Bitters and Matthews to help him in his search, because the auburn-haired kiss-ass in particular would have jumped at the opportunity to help his captain. But, then Grif had remembered that Matthews was still on medical leave due to recovering from his injury, and he didn't feel like being that much of a jackass to Bitters to pull him from the yellow-trimmed lieutenant's side.
Which meant that it was just going to be him searching the streets of the reconstructed Armonia for Simmons, and his fat-ass was currently getting nowhere.
Grif sighed. He was feeling hungry, worried, and annoyed all at once. Tired too. What he fucking wouldn't do for a nap right about now…
Just as he was about to pass out in the middle of the street right then and there, out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of short red hair and a lanky frame walking directly in front of him…
"Simmons!" Grif reached out and grabbed the person's back shoulder, spinning them around to face him.
But, the "Where the fuck have you been?" that nearly passed his lips halted as the woman he had just latched onto looked to be of the mind to pepper spray him or beat him to death with her purse.
"Sorry." He muttered under his breath, resulting in an annoyed eye roll from the woman as she turned around to talk to her friend about military people being rude. The tan-skinned man gave her back the finger just for good measure.
"…Grif?" A familiar voice suddenly spoke up behind him in surprise.
Grif couldn't help but roll his eyes then as he turned to face the cyborg. It figured that, after all the effort he had put into finding the neurotic kiss-ass, Simmons would fucking find him first.
What an asshole.
The café had been one of the first "entertainment areas" that had been hastily rebuilt in Armonia following the war, and it showed in how haphazard the construction was. Still, they made some kick-ass coffee here. So, it was no surprise that a coffee addict like Simmons would come to this place to "talk."
…Only, much to Grif's chagrin, the dumb nerd wasn't talking. Instead, Simmons was staring sullenly down at the table, his coffee all but forgotten. As was, apparently, the chubby man seated across from him.
It was really starting to piss Grif the fuck off.
"You know," he began quietly, just to get things moving along, "I get it. I really do."
Simmons said nothing, but he looked up from what was apparently a fascinating coffee-stained metallic tabletop. Both Simmons' green organic eye and red cybernetic one were wide and questioning in his pale, freckled face.
"We all finally received messages from our families. After what seems like fucking forever for some of us." Grif recalled out loud what had happened that had gotten the other man so upset that he had quite literally run away while inwardly recalling how happy he had been to finally get a message from his sister after so long, "…Everyone except you."
Simmons let out a sad little sigh, eyes wandering back down to his coffee mug as he tapped a cybernetic finger on the table, "I…I don't even know why I got as upset as I did." He stated sheepishly as metal pinged on metal, "It's not like I should have expected my dad to put in any effort. Not when it comes to a son like me."
"Well, yeah, but that's because he is an asshole. Plain and simple." Grif stated so clearly that Simmons couldn't help but look up at him in surprise. Grif smirked at Simmons' reaction, "Do you have any idea how long I spent searching for your kiss-ass self? You fucking asshole."
"I…" Simmons trailed off, wincing apologetically. The redhead's voice sounded like he was holding back tears. Fucking anxiety-ridden crybaby. Talk about confidence issues.
"But I'd do it every time." Grif cut the maroon-wearing man's tears off, "Fuck it, man. If you came home with me right now, I'd even help you clean the place for a month. You know how much I fucking hate doing that shit."
Simmons' face turned red at Grif calling the apartment that they shared "home."
"Because, and fucking trust me when I say this, Simmons," Grif continued on seriously, a lazy smile forming on his face, "You are totally worth the fucking effort. Most of the time."
Through the tears that were starting to form in his eyes, Simmons couldn't help but smile back as he replied: "Thanks, fat-ass."
Author's Notes: This came from the writing prompt "Where would someone hide in a town like this?", and it is also my contribution to the Monty Oum Project's February 4th "start something new" initiative. I think honoring such a creative and talented individual with creative works is a lovely sentiment. Rest in peace, Monty Oum. Thank you for inspiring us with your creative legacy.
