I can't think of much that needs to be said here except I still don't own the stuff I didn't own yesterday and the day before. Shrugs
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Grif wandered the corridors of the ship. He wasn't quite sure how, but he'd gotten himself lost. He blamed whoever had decided it was a good idea to make all the hallways look the same. He couldn't tell if he was heading in the right direction, but he kept on walking. He heard a voice and something deep inside told him not to investigate. It wasn't really often he had these gut feelings, so he tended to forget that they were always right, and he always ignored them. The voice was coming from further along the same hall, so it wasn't exactly out of his way. He was already heading that direction anyway, what was the harm? He had been wrong, it was two voices. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but one of the voices sounded a lot like Simmons. Remembering the last time he'd seen Simmons, he decided against making himself know. The other voice was Simmons, too. Wait, no, it was a lot like Simmons's voice, but…different. Deeper, accented, like the voice he'd been using on and off to threaten Grif all day. He had already decided Simmons had gone insane, so this wasn't much of a stretch.
"Why me? I didn't ask for this, didn't want it. Why won't you just leave me alone?" Simmons asked.
"I need a host, you were readily available," the other voice said, the same and not the same. Weird.
"What was wrong with staying where you were?"
"Nothing really. Didn't really like the company."
"I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here."
"Oh, I can't? What exactly are you going to do about it?"
Simmons made a sound that was like a sigh and a grunt mixed together. Grif decided to let Simmons know he was there. He backed along the hall, then started to walk, loudly, toward the room. "Hey, Simmons, you down here?" he shouted down the hall.
He could hear Simmons sigh from where he stood, almost just outside to door. "No, go away."
"Simmons, I'm lost, I need…" he hesitated. "I need your help." He hated having to admit it, but, crazy or not, he really did the other soldiers help. He walked into the room. Grif had hoped that he was wrong, hoped that someone else had been here for Simmons to talk to, but he and Simmons were definitely he only people in the room. Grif stopped to take in the scene and saw Simmons sitting on a bunk by himself. He had taken off his helmet, which now lay on the floor. It was about this time that Grif realized he'd lost his helmet somewhere along the way.
"You okay, man?" Grif asked. "You look pretty crappy."
"Thanks," Simmons replied sarcastically. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with you beating me."
"Seriously, dude, you don't look too good." It was true; Simmons was pale, dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't looked like that the hour or so ago Grif had last seen him. He was grouchy, too. "Is something wrong?" Simmons stared blankly at him for a moment. "C'mon, out with it."
"Same rules go. Sarge finds out…" Simmons started.
"I'll wish I was dead," Grif finished with a roll of his eyes.
"You're not wearing your helmet, idiot. I saw that," Simmons said irritably.
"Oh, yeah, I knew that." There was an awkward pause that Grif got tired of fast. "So you gonna tell me what's wrong or what?"
Simmons sighed. He looked like he was going to say something, then a strange look came to his eyes. "I'll tell you what's wrong. You're about to die." He smiled and began to laugh. Another strange look came across his face, even as he laughed maniacally. He paused, then, with a pained look, whispered, "Grif, run." The look from before and the laugh, strangely familiar and yet completely out of place, started again, then he reached up and hit a stud in the wall. The door to the room rolled down from the ceiling. Grif looked back behind as the door rolled down with a thud. "What the—" he started, then turned to see Simmons approaching with a murderous look in his eye.
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"What?" Tucker asked laughing. "An empty ship? God, they're almost as bad off as we are."
"What do you mean, almost?"
"We got stuck with Caboose."
"Yeah, okay. So, how ya feelin', man?"
"Lot better than when that thing was in me," Tucker said, gesturing to the alien. "Y'know, I really think we should give him a name."
"Him?"
Tucker looked down at the floor. "I don't wanna talk about it."
"I like the name Michael."
"Caboose, that's your name," Tucker said exasperatedly.
"Good, I like it."
Church sighed. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping Doc company or something?"
"Oh, yeah, I was supposed to tell you. He left."
"He what?"
"Uh…maybe I wasn't supposed to tell you…"
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Well, there's that. R&R and have a nice day.