An alternative timeline conversation set during Season 15.

Pairings Beyond Grimmons:

~N/A

Other Notes for This Story:

~Exactly as the summary says! Consider it set in one of the many time cracks mentioned in Season 17.

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

This Time

Dexter Grif watched as the ships took off. His mind wandered with the humming engines, desperately trying not to dwell on how angry and upset he felt. He didn't want to reflect on how strangely remorseful he felt too, a pang of guilt that didn't dissipate long after he'd stopped seeing the shocked reactions of some of the guys.

The orange-armored retired soldier tried especially hard not to think about Simmons and how the kiss-ass had just stood there, too dumbstruck to say a damn thing as Grif ranted to everyone about just how much he hated them all.

After all, it was finally over. It was finally fucking done with. Good fucking riddance to those assholes and their Church-related problems. Grif could get on with his retirement, now on an awesomely empty moon. He could finally fucking relax without worrying about getting shot, or watching someone else die in front of him, or some other heroic bullshit that constantly followed the Reds and Blues.

It was going to be fan-fucking-tastic. Really.

He wouldn't miss those idiots. It didn't bother him at all that they'd just up and left him, even though technically he'd been the one to push away first (but still!).

Dexter Grif would be all right on his own. Better than all right. Yep, nothing to it really. The guys would all be fucking sorry they left him behind when their adventure shit inevitably hit the fan like it did every fucking time.

The heavyset man ignored the inner panicked voice that was screaming that he'd just made a terrible mistake as he tried not to think of Simmons' silence. His words replayed without warning like an angry asshole's voicemail, and he inwardly hoped Caboose hadn't cried after they left.

He hadn't made a mistake, damn it! If the others were going to risk their lives, then that was on them. He wanted no part of it. Not anymore.

Grif knew what he was doing when he'd pushed them all away, right? After all, he'd chosen to do that on his own. It was only natural they'd leave. That's what happens when you tell people you hate them. It was the natural consequence of his own actions. Why should Grif feel bad now, especially since the Reds and Blues had just done what he'd wanted them to? Except...

Grif couldn't help but remember Simmons' stunned silence as he walked off, couldn't help but recall Sarge ordering him to come back in the only way that Sarge knew how.

Fuck it. Maybe there was still beer back at one of the bases. If there was, Grif was certain he could make the most out of his new quitting stage. Really get that tiny voice nice and muddled.

He was just inside the doorway to Red Base, almost convinced he didn't need the guys just as much as they apparently didn't need him. Never mind the fact that he'd said he hated them all, that he quit. Simmons had stood there dumbly as Grif walked away, and they all left anyways. All of them!

"Did you really mean it?"

The orange-wearing man paused at the small-sounding voice coming from a few feet behind him, shocked to see a familiar figure in maroon armor standing just outside the door. Like Grif, Simmons had abandoned his helmet somewhere on the ground of Iris. His freckled face was a twisted mess of insecurity and hesitation.

Grif tried to focus on the surprise he felt at seeming the redhead then, not on the sudden hurt and guilt he felt at seeing Simmons' face twisted up like someone had kicked him in the shins or something, "I thought you left with the others." It wasn't a direct response to Simmons' fearfully asked question, but it was the first thing that came to Grif's mind.

...Simmons should have left with the rest of them, and Grif should have remained alone on Iris trying not to dwell on what had been said and done. He wasn't sure why he felt so certain of that. It was like some kind of odd déjà vu.

Simmons fidgeted awkwardly at Grif's question, looking down at his feet. There was a bit of redness on his cheeks, "I...I was going to." He admitted softly, "I mean, you made it pretty clear how you felt and that...well, that should have been it, you know?"

Grif didn't say anything because he couldn't really. What could he say? Sorry for being a dick? No way in hell!

"I'm bad at this stuff, and I didn't know how to react so you'd think getting on one of the ships would have made sense." Simmons fidgeted again, refusing to look at Grif directly, "I mean, it is an old habit by this point. My running away." He paused, and suddenly he wasn't fidgeting anymore. There was an oddly stubborn glint in his green eyes as he stated, "But I didn't want to do that this time."

This time. As if this was a situation that they had ever repeated before. Maybe they had, in another time and place. That's why it felt familiar.

Grif was definitely pretty sure that if this incident had happened before, this conversation with Simmons wouldn't have happened. He'd quit and Simmons would go with the others and then there would be some inevitable life-threatening danger because that's the kind of bullshit that always happens to them.

This time...

As if things were repeating, as if this sense of "this didn't happen, you both were idiots" that was screaming at him right now made any sense.

"I want to be here though." Simmons was still rambling awkwardly, "Wanted to be before too but..." He frowned, as if just now figuring out that his words weren't making any sense. The nerd's face scrunched up the way it always did whenever he got those "deja vu" headaches as he'd like to call them, "I'm here now, Grif." Simmons finally settled on, "As long as you want me around, that is."

Grif knew this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. That maybe there was some alternate universe out there where things played out differently, where they had a heart-to-heart much later on and all of this was just some fractured remnant. They were just acting based on memories of past decisions and regret. Maybe there was a time when they would have to process all of this shit and deal with it in a totally different way.

The orange-armored man had a feeling they'd still do it together though. Somehow. Grif and Simmons always seemed to find each other, no matter what time. Sometimes it just took them longer than others.

As for this particular moment, this one instant? Grif took a step forward just as Simmons did and Simmons reached out without hesitation, gripping Grif's hands tightly with the promise of never letting go.

Grif returned the reassuring pressure, enjoying the comforting feel of his fingers entwined with Simmons'. As for this time, Grif sure as fuck didn't mind this turn of events.

Author's Notes: Here's hoping Simmons offhandedly mentioned to Lopez that he should send them a message if things got too dicey. Otherwise, I'm sure that the timeline would get very messy indeed. XD

This is a shorter oneshot because this was a busy for me, but I had fun writing something to explore the way the time cracks in Season 17 might alter some things from the main timeline. I've no doubt that Simmons probably did want to stay when Grif was pushing them all away in Season 15, given how mute he was during the whole thing, but didn't because of what was said and his own insecurities and emotional constipation. So, if given a second chance, he might just subconsciously take it. Thus the idea for this little story was born! :)

Thank you for reading, and hopefully I'll write a longer story soon! :D