Grif keeps getting asked for relationship advice.

Pairings Beyond Grimmons:

~Jensen x Palomo

~Sarge x Grey

~Bitthews

~Robonut

~Carwash

Other Notes for This Story:

~Set immediately after the ending to Season 13. Has allusions to Season 15.

~Written for the 15kisses comm on Dreamwidth. The prompt was "Sagittarius: #8 Transcend."

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

Transcendent Advice

Dexter Grif glanced up apathetically from his meal in the mess hall at the sound of someone setting their tray down on the other side of the table. Truth be told, he expected the mealtime intruder to be Simmons since the redhead was running late. Plus, normally other people avoided sitting with Grif. That was probably on account of how he stole food from the trays of slow eating victims nearby, so people tended to sit by him during mealtimes at their own risk.

Simmons was one of the only people who could stand Grif's "food ninja" escapades, so he just assumed the nerd was the one joining him like always. Grif already had a lazy comeback on the tip of his tongue for the no doubt coming exasperated remarks about his eighth plate of food. Simmons was nothing if not a predictable kiss-ass.

…Except maybe this time, because, to Grif's surprise, it was actually Charles Palomo who sat down at his table instead. The dark-skinned man had a nervous grin plastered onto his young face, as if he was having the best day ever. Seeing that gleeful expression, the orange-armored soldier suddenly understood Tucker's animosity towards the Chorus rookie.

"Tucker's not here." Grif came out and said the first thing that came to mind at the unexpected sight, hoping Palomo would get the hint that the mess hall usually served as Grif's alone time.

Besides, the only reason that Palomo would sit here would be for the captain that he was always sucking up to, you know? Palomo and Grif weren't exactly pals, not that Tucker and Palomo were either.

Still, Palomo clearly admired Tucker for reasons no one in their right mind could fathom. The lieutenant reminded him a bit of Matthews in that regard, although it was obvious why Matthews would admire his captain. Grif was a fucking maverick, after all.

A morose part of his mind reminded Grif that he still needed to check in again on the lieutenant in yellow-trimmed armor in the hospital. Damn it. Grif didn't like thinking deep things when he was eating. He wasn't a nerd like Simmons. He stabbed at the potatoes on his tray with his fork and tunneled the food into his mouth, eyes watching the tan and aqua-armored lieutenant in the hopes that he'd be leaving soon.

"Oh, I know, sir!" Palomo instead told him in his exuberant tone of voice, "I was…um, actually hoping to speak to you, Captain Grif."

Grif raised an apathetic eyebrow at the unexpected reveal, "You were?"

"Yeah!" The dark-haired rookie exclaimed readily before nervously looking around and lowering his voice when he felt it was safe to continue, "It's…um…about Jensen."

"Jensen." Grif repeated, feeling a headache beginning to loom.

It wasn't as if Palomo's crush on the tan-skinned girl was any huge secret, but he really didn't want to deal with this shit while he was eating. Or ever. "Wouldn't it be better to talk to Simmons about her?" He tried, hoping that Palomo would take the bait and go find the redhead instead.

The young man blushed, "I er…I'd be afraid he'd be overprotective, sir."

Well, that made sense. Simmons had started taking an almost father-like interest in the maroon-trimmed lieutenant's wellbeing recently. Nothing like an anxiety-ridden, stressed out, and overprotective father figure.

"Right." Grif replied as he nodded his head in understanding, "Got it. So, what's this about then?" He was hoping he could get Palomo to tell him what was going on and then be done with it, his mind already wandering back down to the food on his tray that taunted him in its current uneaten state.

Palomo leaned forward again, the blush on his cheeks intensifying, "I'd like to ask Katie out."

Grif leaned back in his seat, arching a dark-colored eyebrow again, "And you couldn't talk to Tucker about this because…?"

"Captain Tucker talks big, but he doesn't really have any close relationships, you know?" Palomo sighed, "He's a ladies' man, after all. He can't be tied down."

Geez, this kid was gullible if he honestly believed all of Tucker's shitty bow-chicka-bow-wow talk. Grif couldn't decide if he was more annoyed at Tucker or Palomo at this point for having been forced into this conversation.

"Okay. So, why ask me for advice then?" Grif asked, honestly wanting to know.

The aqua-trimmed lieutenant blinked, the expression on his face clearly saying that the answer should be obvious, "Because you're in a really, really close relationship?"

This was news to Grif, "With who?"

Palomo was now looking at the older man as though he had sprouted two heads, "With Captain Simmons. Duh."

It was a good thing that Grif had resisted the urge to take another bite out of his food, because he would have been choking then and there.

"We're not dating!" He finally blurted out before remembering he had a laidback reputation to uphold.

"You're not?" The young man asked. The way Palomo looked at him, with brown eyes wide in disbelief, indicated he thought Grif was full of shit.

"No, we're not." Grif tried again, "Who told you that we fucking were?"

"Well, Captain Tucker always says you're married," Palomo began, "And everyone kind of just assumes."

Really, everyone assumes? They all needed to mind their own damn business then. Fucking assholes.

Grif sighed, "Nothing is going on between me and Simmons. At all." He finally informed the lieutenant, hoping that put an end to all these assumptions.

"If you say so, sir." But, Palomo's tone clearly indicated that he wasn't buying it. The wink he gave Grif a second later was an even bigger sign, but before the chubby man could argue once more Palomo tried again: "So, about Jensen…"

"Look, kid, just ask her out already."

Grif couldn't wait until this uncomfortable conversation was over with.

Richard "Dick" Simmons joined Grif at the table mere seconds after Palomo had upped and left, the lieutenant thanking Grif for his "advice."

Right on cue, the redhead couldn't help but make a face at Grif's eighth plate of food. Simmons was nothing if not a predictable kiss-ass, after all.

"You've been here for over two hours, fat-ass." Simmons chided after a whole ten seconds of silence.

Grif shrugged nonchalantly and stuffed another bite of potato mush into his mouth, "A man's got to eat, Simmons."

Simmons couldn't help but roll his eyes at the pseudo-sage tone of Grif's voice just then. Instead of ridiculing the heavyset man further, however, he brought a forkful of food up to his own mouth. There was a red tinge on Simmon's pale face that made his freckles stand out, almost like a blush.

Grif watched him for a moment before speaking, "Why so late, Simmons?"

He didn't care. Not really. But, had Simmons come on time then maybe Grif wouldn't have had to have that awkward-as-all-fuck moment with Palomo. So, really, the nerd was just as much to blame as Tucker and Palomo.

Simmons paused, his face going full on red in a shade that would surely make Sarge proud, "Oh! Um…Jensen wanted to talk."

There was something about the high-pitched way the cyborg spoke then that had Grif raising an eyebrow in curiosity, "No shit." He said, "Relationship advice?"

Simmons stared at the tan-skinned man in open surprise, "H—how'd you know?"

Grif shrugged disinterestedly, "Lucky guess." He told him, "I fucking rock at those."

"I…I'm not sure why she came to me about it." The cyborg frowned in contemplation, "I hope I didn't fuck things up for her."

Grif's eyes caught sight of Palomo and Jensen huddled together at one of the tables farther away, all awkwardly holding hands and blushing smiles.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Simmons." He advised, gesturing towards to two rookies.

When he saw the worrywart slowly start to relax at his words, Grif went back to eating as their usual companionable silence settled between them. If he cast a few contemplative looks Simmons' way, the other man was too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice.

The blush, however, still remained on the cyborg's face. Simmons seemed to find his food incredibly fascinating at the moment, eyes definitely avoiding the chubby man in front of him.

Grif couldn't keep himself from wondering why.

"Oh, there you are!"

Grif couldn't help the involuntary nervous stiffening of his muscles at the sound of Doctor Emily Grey's cheerful voice coming up from behind him. One would probably call it a survival instinct: that moment before fight or flight took hold.

"I've been looking everywhere for you!" The woman in purple-trimmed armor stated as she sidled up next to Grif, a manic gleam in her dark eyes.

Grif took in a deep breath, trying not to let the dark-skinned woman know just how much her very presence there unnerved him, "What's up, Doctor Grey?" He frowned, "Is Matthews…?"

Shit. He hoped that wasn't the reason they were talking. Grif had been meaning to check on the young kiss-ass soon, but he kept finding other stuff to do instead. Like eating and sleeping. Truth be told, hospital visits weren't really his thing.

Doctor Grey waved her heads in a dismissive gesture and he was fairly certain that the borderline psychotic smile gracing her features was meant to be reassuring if it had belonged to someone sane, "He's healing nicely, Captain Grif." She told him matter-of-factly, "He should be well enough to get discharged in the next couple of days."

Grif let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't known he'd been holding, but that was followed by a frown as he wondered just then why the doctor had approached him in the first place.

As if reading his mind, Doctor Grey carried on, "Actually, I was hoping that I could get your advice on something."

"You want my advice?" He asked, staring at the woman with a genius level intellect in disbelief, "Why?"

The dark-skinned woman nodded, a thoughtful frown pursing her lips, "Well, I tried asking Captain Simmons before and the poor man nearly fainted!"

…I can't imagine why. Fortunately, Grif was smart enough not to say that out loud to the scary doctor lady.

"What I'd like to ask your opinion on is Sarge." Doctor Grey told him quietly, as if afraid the conversation would carry down the empty halls.

"Sarge." Grif said flatly, already regretting that he hadn't listened to his flight instinct. Damn his lazy, slow movements!

She nodded, an oddly hopeful look crossing her features that only slightly undermined the crazy lurking underneath, "You see, there's an upcoming combat robotics lecture. It's the first since the war ended, and I was hoping that—"

"You'd like him to be your plus one." Grif couldn't help but groan and interrupt her train of thought, "Sarge."

"An excellent deduction!" Doctor Grey grinned, a blush seeping onto her skin, "You're smarter than your appearance would suggest!"

"Gee, thanks." He muttered sarcastically, "But what makes you think I could fucking give you advice on something like that? And for fucking Sarge of all people?"

It wasn't exactly a secret that Grif and Sarge didn't really get along too well. After all, the vast majority of the old guy's battle plans involved a certain orange-armored soldier being used as a human shield.

"Isn't it obvious?" Doctor Grey asked, confused by the tan-skinned man's statement, "After all, you and Captain Simmons…"

Grif felt his face heat up involuntarily as she trailed off, clearly believing she didn't need to state the obvious. He couldn't suppress a groan at what he knew she was indicating.

Doctor Grey frowned at his reaction, "Well, now, really! If you two wanted it to be something of a secret, then you shouldn't make it so obvious!" With that she suddenly thought of something and grabbed Grif's shoulder in concern, "Is Captain Simmons afraid of teasing? Because I can tell him the same thing I told Captain Caboose: bullies around here get introduced to my scalpel collection!"

Grif suddenly felt rather sorry for anyone who she caught bullying someone else, and made yet another note to stay on the doctor's good side. People might be assholes, but he doubted many deserved whatever it was Doctor Grey had in mind for punishment.

"No. Well, yes. Simmons is always afraid of teasing, but that's not it." Grif replied as he shook his dark-haired head, "We're not dating."

"Of course not! If you say so." Doctor Grey nodded her head in such a conspiratorial way that clearly indicated she didn't believe a word of what he had just said, "Now, about approaching Sarge…"

"Just ask him." He sighed, figuring there wasn't any point in wasting energy trying to correct her further, "I'm sure he's crazy enough to say yes."

…Particularly if said robotics lecture was going to be about attaching robots to someone, or giving robots guns of some kind.

Besides, Grif had seen Sarge looking over at Doctor Grey when the older man didn't think anyone was looking. The chubby man was nothing if not observant, and he had no doubt that Sarge would say yes if Doctor Emily Grey asked him out. …As much as he would want to bleach out the mental images that a date of theirs would leave in his head well after this conversation.

She smiled and nodded her head, dark hair bobbing with the gesture, "Thank you, Captain Grif." She told him before turning to go. However, Doctor Grey paused before glancing thoughtfully over at him once again, "Are you positive that you and Captain Simmons aren't dating?" She asked, "Such a shame! Your scars compliment his so well!"

Grif wasn't sure how someone could say something like that with a bright smile and such unbridled joy in their voice. Subconsciously, his hand went to rub the all too pale skin of his arm that used to belong to Simmons.

"Hey," Grif greeted Simmons with when he came to join him for their nightly talk, "You just missed everyone's favorite crazy doctor."

These nighttime discussions had become something of a habit for them ever since their nights spent standing guard back in Blood Gulch. They were even scheduled onto the maroon-armored soldier's chore wheel that Grif kept pretending to ignore. Simmons was nothing if not a predictable kiss-ass, although Grif figured every once in a while he could be predictable too. Never a kiss-ass though. He had pride.

"R—really? Where?" Simmons' head darted around fearfully, as if he was expecting Doctor Grey to jump out of the shadows again.

To be fair to the cyborg, she had done that once to him in an experiment involving a test for adrenaline levels or something. Said experiment had caused Simmons to faint on the spot. It was epic. Grif was still mocking the nerd for it.

"Relax," Grif said as he rolled his dark-colored eyes, "She's not here anymore, kiss-ass."

"I see." Simmons visibly relaxed at that knowledge, "Lead with that next time. Please."

Grif waited until the redhead was completely relaxed before springing his trap, "Yeah, evidently she wanted advice."

"From you?" Simmons snorted, "On what? How to not take a bath for two weeks?"

They teased and mocked one another enough for Grif to expertly ignore Simmons save for a raised middle finger before he continued, "On how to pick up Sarge of all things."

"What?!"

That did the trick. Simmons' face and neck turned a tomato red so quickly it was as if Grif had told him that Doctor Grey had been looking for the cyborg in order to give him a physical. Again, Sarge would be proud of the shade of red the kiss-ass had turned. Like always, Grif found it was a good look on the nerd.

Grif watched in smug satisfaction as Simmons tried processing this new bit of information, the maroon-wearing man sputtering all the while. He tried not to focus on how Simmons' metallic features complimented the pale skin and jagged scarring of his own body as Doctor Grey's words played on repeat in the back of his mind.

"How's he doing?" Were the first words out of Dexter Grif's mouth when he entered Matthews' hospital room only to find that the currently sleeping lieutenant was not alone.

Antoine Bitters shrugged his shoulders from where he sat by Matthews' bedside, "He's doing all right." He told his captain, "He'll be discharged tomorrow."

"And back to kissing ass in no time flat." Grif couldn't help but joke in an encouraging sort of way, eyes awkwardly wandering around the tiny hospital room.

It was pretty good news that the kid was getting out of the hospital soon, even if the auburn-haired rookie drove Grif up the wall with his overenthusiasm. He might not appreciate Matthews' kiss-ass tendencies, but Grif hated the sights, sounds, and smells of hospitals even more.

"Yeah." Bitters looked down at Matthews with an oddly fond smile on his dark-skinned face before turning to the heavyset man again with a frown, "Do you want me to wake him, or…?"

"Nah, let him sleep." Grif replied as he shook his head, "I'm sure I'll be seeing him around soon enough."

"Good." Bitters said as he visibly relaxed in his chair, "Because I wouldn't have done it anyways. I just wanted to see how big of an asshole you are. Matthews sucks up so much that he doesn't get enough sleep as it is."

"Right."

Grif was somewhat reminded of how he would let Kai rest after she pulled all-nighters for school or was sick, of how his little sister had done the same for him after he had worked his ass off for some dead-end job just to make ends meet for the two of them.

He recalled how he sometimes turned off their morning alarms to make sure that Simmons got some much needed sleep, even if the nerd bitched him out for it later.

He watched the fond way that Bitters looked at Matthews, and a sudden tightness formed in his chest. It must have been heartburn from the five lunches he ate earlier in the day.

"How are you doing?" Grif asked the orange-trimmed lieutenant, wanting to fill the silence so that he wasn't left to think about Kai, Simmons, and hospital sounds.

Bitters frowned suspiciously, "Fine, I guess." He paused in a hesitant way before adding, "Better now."

No doubt because Matthews was about to be released soon.

"You don't need any advice from me?"

Bitters looked at Grif in exactly the same way that Palomo had, as if the older man had grown an extra head in the span of two seconds, "Why the hell would I need any advice from you?" He questioned, "Sir."

Grif sighed, "Forget it. Force of habit." He frowned in thought, "I've just had a shitload of uncomfortable relationship talks with people lately."

Bitters' eyes darted to Matthews then, and Grif noticed that his armored orange-trimmed hands twitched as if they wanted to grab on to his friend just to make sure he was really there. The normally angry lieutenant with multi-colored hair squared his shoulders.

"We're already seeing each other," Bitters told him plainly, dark eyes narrowed, "And no offense? But, you'd be the last person I'd come to for relationship advice."

"Why is that?" Grif asked, more curious than anything else. Bitters was such a fucking maverick.

"…Because you and Captain Simmons haven't gotten your shit together yet."

Bitters' words were still ringing in Grif's ears when he came to the room that he shared with Simmons. It seemed natural that they'd share a bunker, so when they'd first gotten to Chorus, they had both volunteered to share a room again because they were already used to doing so. So much had changed, but that didn't have to.

Opening the door, the orange-armored soldier found that Simmons was already asleep. The redhead had no doubt exhausted himself by overworking once again, despite the fact that there was technically peace on Chorus now and they could actually fucking relax and take it easy for once. Fucking kiss-ass.

For a second, Grif considered waking Simmons to tell him the news about Matthews. The cyborg would want to know that the auburn-haired lieutenant was doing okay, at least. But, ultimately, Grif decided against it when he noticed the very full chore wheel taped to the wall behind Simmons' sleeping form.

The nerd worked himself into a tizzy every day. So, in the rare instances when the cyborg actually slept, Grif really didn't have the desire to wake him.

He canceled the alarm that Simmons had set up, resigning himself to hearing the redhead's usual restive tirade about that action tomorrow morning before going to bed himself.

"I love him, I really do! But, sometimes it is like we're both talking in completely different languages!" Franklin Delano Donut stated emphatically in-between the last few bites of lettuce from his salad.

Grif rolled his eyes, having had enough of this "bitch to Grif about relationships" shit from even before his pink-armored teammate had sat down next to him in the mess hall.

"That's because you are speaking two completely different languages." He finally informed Donut matter-of-factly, fork stabbing into his potatoes.

Naturally, Donut seemed to process his words on an entirely different level than what Grif had intended. The dirty blond nodded his head as if he had just been told something deeply profound instead of the apathetic words of a lazy guy wanting to be left alone to eat his food in peace.

"I knew asking you was the right call, Grif, since you and Simmons communicate so well despite your differences!" Donut said, positively beaming as he stood up with his tray in his hands, "I can't wait to tell Lopez!"

Grif had a sneaking suspicion that the Spanish-speaking robot would be just as enthused as he felt on whatever had just happened as he watched Donut literally skip out of the mess hall. The man in lightish-red narrowly avoided bumping into Tucker, who was currently making his way over to the table as Grif groaned inwardly. So much for eating his sixth meal in private.

"What the fuck was that about?" Tucker asked without preamble as he sat down, "I mean, besides Donut being Donut."

"Beats me." Grif said as he shrugged, "Donut evidently wanted relationship advice."

Tucker raised a dark-haired eyebrow, "From you?"

The chubby man rolled his eyes, "It's because everyone thinks that Simmons and I are a couple."

"Wait, you mean you fucking aren't?" The teal-wearing man asked, looking absolutely scandalized, "Are you sure?"

Grif glared at him, ignoring the fact that his face was heating up slightly. His fork stabbed the potatoes, willing Tucker to take the hint and leave him the fuck alone.

"Now that you mention relationship advice," Tucker looked thoughtful himself then, humming slightly and so obviously not getting the hint, "I have been thinking of setting up Washington and Carolina."

Grif nearly spit out his food just then, "W—what?" He couldn't help but blurt out, "Fucking why? Can humanity even handle that?"

Tucker shrugged, "Just a whim, really." He got a mischievous look in his brown eyes, "Any advice, fat-ass?"

"Try not to get killed?" Grif was unable to stop himself from saying.

After all, knowing Washington and Carolina, a retaliation of bodily harm was definitely a possibility.

The dark-skinned man nodded his head, "I was figuring that I'd lock them in a storage closet when we visit the Temple of Procreation later."

"So you're going to ignore my advice, I see."

There was a brief pause as Tucker and Grif both began eating once more, though that only lasted a second before Tucker was regarding Grif curiously once again.

"You and Simmons have totally banged though, right?" Tucker suddenly asked, narrowly avoiding the tray full of mushy potatoes thrown his way.

"Goddamn it, Tucker!"

"Whatcha up to, kiss-ass?" Grif asked rather lazily as he watched Simmons prepare his gear pack for what was, no doubt, the millionth time since Grif had stepped into their shared room.

"What do you think?" Simmons rolled his eyes as if the answer should be obvious, which it totally was, "I'm getting ready for our mission to the Temple of Procreation, fat-ass."

Right. Kimball was ordering a check of all of the alien temples on Chorus now that the fighting was over. This meant that the Reds and Blues were going along due to Tucker's energy sword being the "key" to accessing the buildings' technology.

Grif wasn't particularly looking forward to having to do actual work again, but he figured that retirement was right around the corner for once. Fucking finally.

As the orange-armored soldier gazed over at Simmons, a thought occurred to him, "Hey, has anyone asked your advice on anything recently?"

"No," Simmons said as his brow scrunched up in thought, "But Donut fucking thanked and hugged me out of the blue today. What was up with that?"

Grif gave a half-assed shrug before replying: "Oh, he thinks that we're a couple and, because of that, I somehow gave him good advice about Lopez."

"W—what?!" Simmons' voice rose in pitch and his face became a shade of red that rivaled Sarge's armor.

…It was a good look on him. A thought that Grif tried to ignore in order to still play it casual. "Yeah," he began, "Evidently everyone thinks we've been together for a while now. You've never heard that before?"

"N—no…" Simmons laughed nervously in that way he did when he was totally lying.

An awkward silence filled the room, neither man wanting to say what was really on their minds right then.

Because…if everyone already thought it, and they pretty much had the routine down pat to begin with, why not just make it fucking official?

The reality of words they hadn't spoken lingered between them.

"So," Grif said instead, looking anywhere but at the still blushing Simmons, "The Temple of Procreation, huh?"

"Yeah." Simmons nodded his head, his gear pack utterly fascinating at this point in time.

Fuck it. They pretty much were together at this point. Why rock the status quo and potentially fuck things up by saying something about it?

So long as Simmons stayed around, Grif was fine.

"Tucker is going to try to get Washington and Carolina together by locking them in a storage closet while we're there." Grif said casually enough, wanting to get their conversation flowing again like always.

"Seriously?" Simmons took the bait, his face only having a pinkish tinge to it now as he stared at Grif incredulously.

…That was another of the maroon-armored man's looks that Grif had already committed to memory. Simmons' freckles stood out like a mosaic amidst that slight blush.

"I know, right?" Grif grinned, "Who's ever heard of a relationship advancing by being locked together in a fucking closet?"

Author's Notes: This story is a gift for my sister, Breyzy, who also happens to be my amazing Beta reader! Thank you so much for always helping me out, sis! I hope that this story is enjoyable for you and not too horribly written! XD