Simmons reflects.

Pairings Beyond Grimmons:

~N/A

Other Notes for This Story:

~MASSIVE SPOILERS for Season 15, Episode 6. SPOILERS, I SAY!

~Written for the 15kisses comm on Dreamwidth. The prompt was "Sagittarius: #2 Storm."

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Storm

"Looks like a clear sky for miles and miles!" Donut's cheery voice intoned from where he was sitting with Lopez in the airship's cockpit, "Not a storm cloud in sight!"

Richard "Dick" Simmons couldn't help but snort derisively to himself at the pink-armored soldier's comment. Oh, Donut was naively mistaken. There was definitely a storm brewing. One that Simmons was caught fucking smack dab in the middle of.

"I quit."

Words he kept replaying over and over again spoken in Dexter Grif's voice. The voice that was so familiar and so constant over the years. Simmons' hands, both organic and cybernetic, shook violently at the tone that voice held in his memory.

The words, their tone, plunged into him like a lightning bolt.

The maroon-wearing solider glanced around the airship. He knew that the others were probably just as upset over what had happened, that they were just better at covering up their emotions. How could they not be feeling the loss? Grif was one of them: a Red and Blue. He was family.

Simmons didn't need cybernetics to recognize that Donut's usually cheerful voice definitely had a warble in it that belied tears. He didn't need his glasses to see that Lopez had thrown himself in the pilot's seat without so much as a word, not that anyone would understand the Spanish-speaking robot if he did say a damn thing.

The redhead didn't need to glance nearby to glimpse Sarge muttering about "deserters" while practically hugging his beloved shotgun. He didn't even need Sarge's approval to notice the two journalists poking their investigative noses around the airship, as if trying to see who in their group would break rank next.

Simmons swallowed hard at the sight of the two newcomers. He wanted to fucking hate them even as he tried to tell himself that what had happened with Grif wasn't really their fault.

He glanced over towards the vacant space by his side and realized he was failing miserably at that too. He couldn't help but resent them a little for this, as irrational as that probably was.

Speaking of irrational, when he looked over towards Caboose he noticed that the Blue was strangely quiet. He refused to even look Simmons' way. They all were, in fact. It felt like they were avoiding him. Afraid of getting caught up in the storm that they had no doubt was currently raging inside of him.

Ever since the journey to find this current iteration of Church or whatever-the-fuck-it-turned-out-to-be had begun, Simmons had been alone. Had felt alone. Like a part of him was missing.

"…I hate you all."

Simmons hadn't looked away then, when he had heard Grif's words. He couldn't. He'd stood there, frozen. Unable to say a damn thing or take one fucking step forward. Even as the others left to get ready, he'd just stood there. Staring at Grif, trying to process what he'd heard…

Until he'd had to make a choice too. He still wasn't sure it was the right one. He wasn't sure of a lot of things anymore. Fuck Dexter Grif for making him have to make the choice in the first place. The jackass never really gave him an option.

Simmons had thought, no matter how flushed or embarrassed he got at remembering their bodies entwined on Chorus, that they'd been closer than ever before. Grif had never really said the words, and Simmons sure as hell had never said them…but, he thought that they were always there. Underneath it all, even though they pretended the "l" word had never been involved.

To Simmons, it didn't have to be spoken. It was just meant to be understood. Leave it to the lazy orange-armored soldier to not get the memo.

"I quit. I hate you all."

Those damn words. Simmons had wanted to scream at Grif to take it back, to take it all back.

A part of him wanted to be there with Grif still. The other part wanted to punch Grif and call him "fat-ass" again just for the hell of it. Truthfully? He wanted so much to do both. He just wanted Grif to be fucking there, wherever the hell Simmons was.

Yeah, Donut had definitely been wrong about the weather. There was a storm raging on, and Simmons was smack dab in the fucking middle of it. But, this time? There were no mirrors to punch, no room he could hide in. There was no one he could ask if they ever wondered why they were here.

So, Simmons sat with hands clenched tight at his sides, helmet off so he could fucking breathe. He remained frozen, just like he had when a certain orange-armored fat-ass decided to walk away.

"Hey, man," Tucker had approached him, shifting on his feet awkwardly, "Look, are you going to be okay or…?"

Simmons didn't reply with words. He simply turned his head slightly to stare through Tucker, and the teal-armored soldier paused before speaking again, "Yeah, okay, I'll just…check on you later."

The dark-skinned man then quickly left without commenting on Simmons' face, or the wetness he no doubt saw there. If Tucker had, Simmons would have blamed the storm. He would have fucking blamed Dexter Grif.

Author's Notes: This is a lot more angst-y than I tend to write (and I apologize for not being the best at writing it!), but that last episode with how they handled Simmons' reaction to what Grif said and did? Well, it just hit me way too hard in the FEELS to not write a response fic to it. So, here it is…and now I just want to hug poor Simmons a ton!

This was also my first prompt fill for Dreamwidth's 15kisses comm. And it's my first ever episode response fic too, along with my first straight-up angst fic as well—oh boy, lots of firsts in this story! I didn't mean to go angst for it, but I just couldn't help it after watching Season 15's Episode 6! Hopefully, the next prompt will be fluffier to counterbalance this one. O_O;