Grif developed an enjoyable morning routine. That is, until a certain cyborg had to go and ruin it.
Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~N/A
Other Notes for This Story:
~Written for the 15kisses comm on Dreamwidth. The prompt was "Sagittarius: #1 Fuse."
~Set sometime shortly after the cyborg surgery way back in Blood Gulch.
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
F*ck the System
Their shared room on base was suffocating and dark, just the way that Dexter Grif liked it.
He would often burrow himself deep into the woolen confines of the massive blanket collection he so deftly and painstakingly amassed over his time in Blood Gulch, just so any lingering traces of light would disappear. The orange-wearing soldier would then drift away from the inane craziness surrounding the Reds and Blues for just a few minutes.
He had lost count of all the times that Richard "Dick" Simmons had torn the blankets off of him with a sigh of frustration and a customary "You can't always sleep in late, fat-ass!" Personally, Grif thought that Simmons' version of "Good morning!" sucked.
The whole thing was so routine anymore that Grif would roll over onto his side to look up at his agitated, pain-in-the-ass teammate with just one eye open in order to give the redhead his customary "Good morning to you too, kiss-ass." greeting just so he could get a rise out of the other man.
It had never once failed to do the trick either. The sight of the red flashing across Simmons' freckled cheeks and his subsequent indignant shriek of utter exasperation and annoyance would help keep Grif in a rather good mood until well after breakfast, even with Sarge's inane battle plans to contend with.
The nerd always seemed more alert and aware afterwards too, although that was probably helped by Simmons' customary ten cups of coffee in the morning. Still, the maroon-armored man chose to stick around Grif to make sure that he didn't sneak off to nap later on and he'd even allow himself to get dragged into all sorts of conversations with the heavyset man throughout the day that they'd both reluctantly admit were actually rather enjoyable.
So, all in all, it was a good routine that Grif had so subtly started.
…That was, until the morning five days ago, when a burrowed-in for the long haul Grif had been jolted from his odd, eager sense of anticipation for their shared morning ritual by the sound of a far too heavy thud on the floor.
Grif woke up to find Simmons lying on the ground in an unresponsive heap, which was definitely not something he had wanted to open his eyes to. The sight brought to mind another still all too fresh time when he had opened his eyes to the sight of countless bodies all around him, and the thought that he'd be fucking alone again caused the heavyset man to panic. He even called out to Sarge for help, for fuck's sake! No one in their right state of mind would do that.
He just kept thinking that if Simmons didn't wake up he'd definitely be all alone because, even if the other Reds and Blues were still around Blood Gulch, Simmons was the one Grif felt the most connected to for some inexplicable reason, especially with Kai still safely away back on Earth for the moment.
Doc and Sarge had pooled their limited medical knowledge together, of which Sarge, scarily but unsurprisingly enough, actually seemed to have more of (Grif made a mental note to never see Doc for anything that even remotely required actual medical treatment). The two concluded that Simmons' cybernetic heart mechanism, which Grif refused to call a "gizmo" like Sarge did, needed to be replaced.
All because the dumbass nerd, for some also inexplicable and phenomenally stupid reason, had opted to give that organ along with a litany of other rather important body parts to Grif to save his life. It still baffled his mind to think on that particular twist of fate. Why someone would ever choose to give up so much for someone like him in the first place was…
When they had first spoken privately together after the cyborg surgery, barely able to look one another in the eye, it had been awkward. On one side there was Grif, fused together and alive with Simmons' stolen body parts. He always tended to consider them such, because he felt that was what they were even if Simmons had volunteered to freely give them. And, on the other side, was Simmons, a fusion of warm flesh and cold metal. They had both uttered "Sorry." at the same time and silently decided to never talk about the matter again lest things get weird.
It was a good system for Grif and Simmons, going right past the heavy things like that. Acknowledging just why they acted a certain way, did a specific thing, or how they possibly felt deep down beneath the surface could send everything they had precariously stacked up crashing down. Even if there were times when they…
Long story short, Simmons got through the surgery to repair his mechanical replacement organ or whatever it actually was just fine. So, metaphorical bullet dodged there.
Once the redhead came to, they could get back to just being their usual selves, not dwelling on the heaviness of underlying feelings for just that much longer.
…The fact that Grif maybe wanted to do more, that he sometimes felt that Simmons, whenever he caught him out of the side of his eye regarding Grif with a contemplative smile or frown, might want the same, was totally beside the point.
The system fucking worked, damn it. Don't fuck the system!
So, after Donut and Lopez both scampered off from their "nurse" duty, Donut with a supportive shoulder pat and a sympathetic look on his face that Grif was desperate to ignore he ever saw and Lopez with a muttered "idiotas inconscientes" {"oblivious idiots"} under his robotic equivalent of a breath, Grif sat on the chair that Nurse Donut had dragged to Simmons' bedside.
He sat there, staring at the shiny metal fused to the side of Simmons' face before his gaze went down all the way to his metallic arm resting above the blanket. Grif clamped his own hand, still far too pale to truly ever consider his, around a cybernetic variation of the same to entwine warm digits around sculpted fingers. He hoped that Simmons could still fucking feel the gesture.
Truth be told, he had never asked about the sensitivity of the circuitry that made up Simmons' artificial parts, had been too afraid to do so even though he had wondered and hoped that he hadn't taken all of it away. He didn't know for how long he sat there waiting for when a drowsy, doped up Simmons would blink open his eyes to blearily look over and subsequently berate Grif for not getting any work done.
It took him by surprise when a bleary-eyed Simmons finally did look up at his mismatched face with a surge of immense relief washing over his own. The cyborg's still flesh and blood hand suddenly found its way to gently rest on the scars and stitches fusing their two skin tones together on the other man's face.
"Grif!" Simmons breathed out happily, as if he couldn't contain himself, "You're still…still here!"
Yeah, okay. Simmons was clearly high as a fucking kite and not thinking straight at all since he seemed to be thinking they were talking right after the tank incident, but Grif's breath hitched in his throat nevertheless.
His fingers tightened around Simmons' metallic ones noticeably as he raised his tan hand up to lightly grip Simmons' still probing fingers in his own, holding them to his imperfectly scarred face for just a moment more.
"Good morning to you too, kiss-ass." Grif told him fondly, despite it being well into the afternoon now and knowing that Simmons was so going to lose his shit when he was with it enough to realize he had missed out on five whole days of work so far, "Since when did you decide to sleep in late, huh?"
Grif and Simmons were fused together now, even when apart. Even if it would still be years later when they both mutually agreed to finally fuck the system entirely.
However, in this particular moment, if Grif remained holding Simmons' hand even well after the point when the painkillers wearing off meant they couldn't deny it had happened, neither man chose to speak about it. Nor did they speak of the fact that Simmons squeezed back with his own hand just as fervently when Grif finally pulled reluctantly away.
Author's Notes: Once again we find ourselves back to my special and inexplicable fondness for handholding in romantic, fluffy stories! :D It shall no doubt make a return yet again sometime soon! :)
I honestly have no idea where the idea for this story came from, but I quickly jotted it down before work one morning, so here it is! :D