Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Chapter Six:
Honestly? Grif wasn't sure what he really wanted to do in this situation.
Simmons was standing there, death-grip still tight around his arm. Both of their faces were tinged red from the loud, simultaneous outburst they had just shouted at one another.
The pale face before him was contorted vividly with a wide range of emotions all at once: shock, disbelief, worry, anxiousness, anger, frustration. He had no doubt his own looked rather similar.
Grif's mind was drawing a blank on finding anything to say. After all, up until this point he'd been about ninety-percent sure he would never see Richard "Dick" Simmons again. He'd sort of hoped so, really, given that he knew Simmons had planned on going into the military: seeing him under circumstances like this after so long was akin to a massive punch to the gut.
It seemed like their little shouting match had been as articulate as things might get for the moment. He swallowed, his throat dry. When he opened his mouth again he promptly closed it.
Simmons was practically shaking all over, but his hold on his arm was still vice-like. Grif was almost surprised that he could even feel it through his armor. Then there was that weird red eye and the odd patch of way too white skin bereft of the freckles that still dotted the rest of Simmons' face- what the hell was up with that?
Neither of them had noticed that no one else was saying or doing anything in the aftermath of their exchange.
Donut stood stock still and frozen, hands held up to his face with his mouth forming an almost comical "O" shape in response. The female robot in the green and grey outfit tilted her head to the side, almost in a mildly curious gesture. She was in the cell on the opposite side of the room, directly facing them on the side where Donut and Grif had first set themselves up for "watch duty" earlier.
Even Lopez, who had apparently decided to remain in the open doorway of the prison area instead of venturing inside, actually took a few steps in upon hearing the shouting- probably just to see what was going on.
It was the man in the cobalt armor, leaning at an angle on the bars of his cell so that he could get as full a view of what was happening the next cell over as he could, who finally broke the tense silence.
"What? You two know each other?" he glanced at what little he could see of Simmons with a begrudging sort of respect. After all, there was really only one way for an Above Grounder to have an acquaintanceship with someone from The Slums: he probably hadn't even thought sneaking down here was something his more timid teammate was capable of without a military order to do so.
The question broke the weird, still moment the two other men had been stuck in.
Suddenly, Simmons seemed to realize that he'd been hanging onto Grif's arm the entire time, his face becoming that same tomato red hue that Grif still remembered from when they were teenagers (save the far too white portion of his face, which remained colorless) and he pulled his hand away quickly as if touching Grif had somehow burned him, looking incredibly sheepish. He retreated further into the cell, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
And, arm suddenly free, Grif's body reacted before his mind could regain control and scream at him for being an idiot when there was so much he wanted to say and probably far too little time for it, really.
He ran.
"G-Grif, hey, wait! Where are you going?" the pink-armored soldier (okay, seriously, that was a weird color for battle armor in general), called after his chubby teammate worriedly.
Church sighed, really not wanting to deal with any of this bizarre drama on top of all of the other bullshit he was going to be dealing with already, "I don't know what the fuck's up with those two, but I'd let him go for now." He advised the younger man. He thought the guy's name was something strange like "Donut" or something: the blonde had gone through an oddly cheerful introduction sequence for himself when the three Resistance members had shown up for guard duty, but Church hadn't been paying too much attention at the time.
Donut (what the hell, he was just going with that for him now) frowned, casting an anxious glance past the brown-armored fighter's frame in the doorway, "But…"
"Your teammate probably just needs time to think." He raised a black eyebrow and addressed his next question to the person in the cell beside his, "Isn't that right, Simmons?"
Simmons said nothing in response, seeming to have retreated inside of himself for the time being.
That caused him to shoot Donut a triumphant "told you so, kid" look.
Jesus, he really didn't want to play babysitter to everyone right now: not for his teammates, and definitely not people who were technically his enemies. He also certainly did not want to get involved in some kind of relationship squabble.
"Does your knowledge of human relationships come from your involvement with Agent Texas, Church?" Sheila inquired.
Damn it, leave it to polite-as-always Sheila to unintentionally pour salt on that still festering wound.
If Tex were here, she'd probably be laughing her ass off at the whole thing. It was strange how that thought amused him more than it frustrated him.
He laughed mirthlessly, "The only knowledge I learned from my involvement with Tex is that I needed to keep a good eye on my credit chip and that I needed to know how to duck quickly. A lot."
Yeah, their relationship had definitely had some rough patches. Some fun times too though. Odd how both of those categories usually involved some bruising though.
"Ducking probablemente no ayudó mucho." {"Ducking probably didn't help much."}
The brown-armored guy (from his electronic sounding voice, Church figured he was probably a robot unless he was filtering his actual vocals like how Tex used to) spoke up, but Church had no real idea what exactly he'd just said.
"Nah, I don't think he meant ducking in a fun way either, Lopez." Donut said in response.
The robot looked at him briefly and it seemed as if he almost sighed in frustration given his body language.
"Realmente deseo que no había entendido eso." {"I really wish I hadn't understood that."}
Sheila turned slightly to regard Lopez, "Agreed. Agent Tex rarely misses in physical combat." she said, nodding as a reply to Lopez's earlier statement. Apparently she just decided to ignore the whole side conversation with Donut or perhaps she just didn't process what it really meant to begin with.
The other robot stared at her, as if surprised by getting an actually accurate response for once to something he had said. Church had the feeling that didn't probably often happen too much if his reaction to Donut's comment was any indication.
She gave a polite sort of bow, "It is a pleasure to meet a fellow robot even under these conditions." That smile was still in her voice, "You can call me Sheila."
"De repente me siento sudoroso." {"Suddenly I feel sweaty."}
"That is strange." She regarded him curiously, "Perhaps your internal temperature systems are malfunctioning?"
"Y ahora me voy en shock." {"And now I am going into shock."}
And while Donut wasn't really the most accurate Spanish translator in the world from what Church had seen, he apparently knew enough about what Lopez was saying and was able to interpret the robot's body language to make a fairly astute guess on the sudden change in the air.
"Aw, I think Lopez might be getting a little crush on someone!" his voice took on a happy, sing-song quality.
That was just fucking perfect.
Church groaned, slamming his head against the bars of his cell despite how that sort of hurt without a helmet on in a vain attempt to remove the last several minutes of his life from his mind, "Can't you people just fucking shoot us now and get it over with?"
Tex seemed to be in a great mood by the time the conversation with Kimball was over with, if the scowl darkening her expression was any indication.
York gave her a sympathetic look, already knowing it would be ignored when she stormed over to a chair and practically threw her body onto it.
It wasn't that Tex was angry at Kimball or anything. Far from it actually, Kimball had listened and agreed to all of their suggestions on what to do next. No, she was just really pissed off at the situation as a whole.
He couldn't blame her for that, not really. This was a situation that could get messy real quick and didn't promise a lot of pleasant outcomes for them.
"They were sent down here for a reason." She finally said, harsh brown eyes staring at the wall.
"They were Florida's group, I think." York frowned, squinting his one good eye in thought.
He hadn't known them personally since the group hadn't really been associated with Project Freelancer. Florida had volunteered to be a captain on his own free time and he had seemed to genuinely enjoy the role despite the extra work that put on his shoulders. York hadn't really understood why: maybe the whole thing had just been Florida's way of keeping himself grounded in the face of all of the secrets and lies surrounding the program.
He'd never know for certain, now.
Hearing about Florida's death had been a really bad blow, especially with the Resistance cover cleverly put up over it.
"The mission briefing we found on them seems genuine enough and I'd know if that idiot Church was hiding something. Besides, the one in the maroon armor seems like he would be a terrible liar to boot given how nervous he was." She tapped her finger on her leg absentmindedly, "Which means if the computer had been turned off manually in the first place like they said it was, it was definitely some kind of set-up."
"But why?"
This was all information they had relayed to Kimball already, save a few details best kept amongst themselves for the moment.
York almost wished that North was here too to discuss this with them. It certainly would save having to relay the whole matter to him once again later if nothing else, but North had been pulled away by Caboose immediately after the meeting with Kimball with the younger Resistance fighter talking quickly and excitedly about wanting someone to go with him to find his "new best friend."
Judging by the hesitant look that had been on his friend's face, York imagined that North was probably trying to come up with a polite way to explain the whole concept of "prisoners" to Caboose- which he did not envy him for in the slightest given that it probably would just go over the poor kid's head anyways, regardless.
"If they were under Florida's command, then that means they probably just got cycled under the Freelancer umbrella once he was declared KIA." Tex muttered.
"You think the Director…?" he trailed off, not bothering to finish the sentence. His meaning was still fairly evident.
The Director was a man who wanted results, no matter how he came upon them. It wasn't impossible to think he might have set this whole thing up on purpose for some reason only fathomable to him.
She frowned, "I don't know who did it, but I am fairly certain this whole fiasco was a test of some sort. I don't think it was a coincidence that Florida's team happened to be picked for it."
York picked up on her train of thought, "It has something to do with Project Freelancer."
"Either they wanted the mission to go south as an excuse to attack directly, which is a pretty good possibility," she said thoughtfully, "Or they wanted to test a theory on one of this team's members in particular."
He knew who she was referring to, if only because of the bits and pieces Tex had been willing to disclose to both of her fellow defectors when they had initially agreed to help her: "You mean Church, right?"
Her back stiffened and her mouth became a thin, tight line- and he knew he was correct in his assumption. "Someone probably made an educated guess about him and they wanted to test him to see their theory was right." York surmised.
Not the Director, then. He already damn well knew.
Was there a power-play going on amidst the higher-ups in Above Ground government then? Only they'd have ready access to confidential information even the best of the best Freelancers weren't privy to, and they would also have the authority to use the disable codes for surveillance computers as well.
Figured, if Project Freelancer was corrupt as all fuck, why not other parts of the military and government on the surface too?
He was certain Delta would have something profound and infuriatingly logical to say about it all. It was times like this one when he missed the green little cockbite the most.
"Too bad for whoever it is. He's already far too broken for them to be able to use him anymore." There was an odd tinge that almost came across as sadness in Tex's voice and she pointedly turned her head so that he couldn't see her expression.
York understood her regret all the same, but knew addressing it would be a mistake. Tex could do incredible things, but her failures were what drove her. She had far too many of them in her mind, all of which cost others far more than they cost herself.
Instead, he said gently, "He doesn't know, does he?"
She shook her head once, "Probably better that he doesn't."
Only so much one person can take. Not remembering, having false memories of a life that hadn't really happened. It was probably the only way he could cope with a situation that wasn't livable anymore.
York could understand why she didn't want Church to know when looking at it from that perspective.
"Are you going to visit him then?" he asked, feeling emboldened by the fact that she hadn't told him to drop this topic of conversation that was a tad more personal than she liked going usually, "Since he's here and everything?"
She fixed him with a blank look, face as unreadable as a sheet of metal.
"Would you visit Carolina if she were here?"
And he grinned in a sheepish, dorky way and Tex couldn't help but groan knowing she had walked right into that one herself.
Of course he would. York was a hopeless romantic, through and through.
He probably would still be at the Mother of Invention, begging Carolina to see reason if their former leader hadn't knocked him unconscious during their last exchange.
Finally, Tex replied to his question, "I might later." She frowned, "Not sure what I'd say though."
"I find that 'Hello' is a pretty good icebreaker." He joked slightly, the grin on his face now a friendly one.
She shot him a look that clearly said "And how long have you known me?" while arching one of her red eyebrows.
Though they didn't look really similar in his mind, he had to stop himself from seeing Carolina in the gesture: how often had she shot him a look with the same kind of meaning behind it, red eyebrows raised and an amused, exasperated look in her green eyes.
Constantly, when they'd first met. Not as much as he'd hoped, towards the end.
Maybe Delta had been right: on top of being a hopeless romantic, he was an illogical one to boot. The green guy had gotten on his nerves all the time, but damn it did he miss having him around to talk to now. He hadn't realized how much he'd gotten used to that constant bond after the implantation surgery.
Though, truthfully, he figured most human beings were pretty illogical when it came to love.
That was probably part of what made them human.
"I'm on guard duty with Blue Team later on anyways, so I'll think of something to say by then." Tex informed him, breaking through his thoughts with her clear voice, "Right now, though, we have to focus on other tasks."
He started, looking at her. Once more, her expression was its usual fierce combination of grim and determined.
"Kimball was right. If Freelancer is involved in this in any remote way, we have to be prepared for the fallout."
"Dude, what the hell?"
Grif frowned, not bothering to look up at Tucker from his spot on the ground.
It figures his friend knew him well enough to have uncovered his second "super secret" naptime spot: a small alcove off to the side of the tunnels that made up the Resistance base.
"Oh, hey, Tucker." He kind of really hoped that his friend was just here more to be a killjoy to his laziness than anything else. He really didn't want to deal with certain topics and any weird lingering feelings that resulted from them right now, "Did you get Junior home safe and sound?"
"You already know I did. That's why I'm back!" he gave Grif a pointed look, "Don't try to change the subject, dumbass."
"Um," he wondered how long he could drag this out, "What are you talking about?"
"Caboose was talking all energetically with North about his new best friend or some shit so I got dragged to where they're keeping the Above Grounders too."
Damn, so much for any remote chance of avoiding it.
"Donut said you ran screaming for the hills a little while ago."
He raised an eyebrow, "I did not run screaming."
Tucker scoffed, "I know, dude. I've seen you run: it barely qualifies as a fast walk half the time."
"I get winded very easily."
"Yeah, whatever, it's called exercising every once in a while, fatass!"
"Like you exercise that much?" he knew his friend did exercise sometimes and ran drills, but he also knew Tucker could be a pro at avoiding physical work just as much as he was when he really wasn't motivated to do anything.
"I did with your sister the other night, bow-chika-bow-OW!" Tucker grimaced when Grif's foot collided with his knee, "Man, you suck!"
"Bad joke, Tucker." His orange-armored friend glared at him.
Tucker shot him a grin despite the pain in his brown eyes from the kick. For a lazy fuck, Grif sure could make things hurt when he felt like it, "Figured being a smartass would get you to react a little."
Grif said nothing at that and Tucker sighed, his expression turning serious, "I saw him."
He pressed on when that didn't get a response from Grif, "The guy in the maroon armor. He's that pasty, nervous kid who stayed at your apartment that one time, isn't he? The one you were practically married to."
That got the tan man to look up at him, "We were not married."
Tucker raised a black eyebrow, "Oh, come on, even Kai said it- maybe not to you directly, but definitely to me. You were sleeping together and everything!"
"In the same room, that's all!"
Jesus, what the fuck had Kai been telling people? He made a mental note to have a chat with his little sister the next time he had a day off.
"Whatever, dude. I call them like I see them, and the two of you seemed pretty fucking domestic whenever I saw you guys together."
"Tucker…" he began.
But Tucker wouldn't let him get a word in beyond that this time, looking at him askance, "Is that why you ran then? You freaked out because he's here?"
Grif closed his mouth quickly, feeling heat on his face and getting really embarrassed at the reaction especially in light of Tucker's earlier comments.
It had been stupid to run like that. Then again, it wasn't like Simmons hadn't frozen up either.
He just—he hadn't expected to ever see the Above Grounder redhead again and certainly never under these conditions.
He still remembered their last conversation all too vividly: the visible relief on the other teen's face when Grif had said he had no intention of getting involved with the Resistance.
Things had changed and he wouldn't fucking take back his decision now, but remembering that somehow made him feel like a hypocrite all the same.
Seeing Simmons again had twisted a whole lot of things up for him, truthfully. Now he wasn't sure he could keep viewing the other side of this conflict as a bunch of anonymous assholes after what had happened in Level One and with Tucker's mom in particular.
No, now he had to interact with some of them directly thanks to this prisoner hoopla and one of them had a face that instantly reminded him of events that still came back to him all too clearly despite how many years had gone by since they'd happened.
Fuck it.
Tucker knew him well enough to accurately guess at what he was thinking, "You probably should try talking to him. Just to get closure and all that shit."
Grif sighed, knowing he was probably right about that.
"Besides, if Sarge finds out you skirted on a mission he considers to be of the utmost importance, I am pretty sure he actually will shoot you."
And he was probably right about that too.
Dexter Grif groaned and sat up, regarding Tucker with a somewhat impressed look, "Since when did you actually start making valid points?"
"I have a kid now and I'm partnered with Caboose. It was bound to happen eventually." He gave a self-deprecating grin, "Though I wouldn't count on it all the time, dumbass."
Shit, shit, shit, shit!
Simmons was surprised that he could still make sense of that word in his thoughts, with the frequency of its constant repetition there currently.
It was bad enough that the mission had gone horribly wrong, bad enough that they'd been taken prisoner. He could almost see the look of disgust and looming disapproval on Agent Carolina's face: it was not at all shocking when hers somehow morphed into his father's.
But Grif was here too on top of that. Hell, he'd had to fucking go so far as to touch him just to make sure. Like an idiot.
And there were so many things he'd wanted to say and do in that moment, that exclamation only the tip of the iceberg. So what did he do instead?
Freak out and retreat as far away from Grif as possible, like the pathetic, socially anxious dumbass that he was.
No wonder Grif ran away at the next available moment.
From outside of the cell, he could hear varying degrees of chatter.
Despite the circumstances, Sheila seemed to be relishing the chance to interact with another rather advanced robot. It had never occurred to him before now, but maybe she had felt lonely surrounded only by humans in Above Ground? He'd ask her later, if he could work up the nerve to do so.
The brown-armored robot called Lopez would say something in Spanish and she would respond with a fluent understanding of what he'd said despite the conversation sounding oddly one-sided on both ends since they were still speaking completely different languages. The wonders of computer translation software, he supposed.
The man in pink armor who was named Donut was happily humming a tune under his breath. The younger Resistance fighter would occasionally cast a sympathetic, kind-hearted look his way but thankfully didn't approach him. Simmons wasn't sure if he could deal with talking to anyone at the moment, especially not to overly-curious strangers.
"And then, when this is all over and the nice lady lets you out, we can go play fetch with Freckles together! He loves playing with his balls."
"Don't we all?" Donut asked in response, brown eyes twinkling merrily.
Simmons was going to really try to pretend he hadn't heard that.
"For the love of God, shut up!"
Well, he supposed it could be worse: he could be stuck in Church's position. The blond-haired young man in blue armor had come by to visit them and had immediately gravitated over to Church's cell. Evidently he lived on base, which only about half of the Resistance apparently did on a permanent basis. So now Caboose was engaging Church in active conversation, along with some occasional innuendo-filled commentary from Donut.
Maybe having a freak-out was at least good for some things, after all, since he seemed to be ignored. Thank goodness for small miracles, Simmons guessed.
"Kimball is nice like that." Caboose continued talking, not really paying attention to Church's growing frustration, "Everyone here is nice though, even the mean lady."
"I'm sure you're all real charitable acts." Church groaned and rubbed his eyes, "That's why you're fighting a goddamned war."
There was a heavy silence and Church removed his eyes from his hands and glanced out at the prison beyond with what seemed like a mild curiosity to see why things had gotten so quiet. Simmons could only partially see him though, given the spacing of the neighboring cells to each other and Church's angle to the bars, though it was enough to see the other man pale slightly at what he saw.
Simmons had a clearer view of the others than he did of Church: he was surprised to see a rather hurt and offended look cross over Donut's face at the comment. He honestly hadn't been sure the kid could even feel negative emotions all that deeply before given how he normally acted. The two robots had fallen silent as well, though it was impossible to read any expressions from them naturally due to their helmets.
And Caboose- well, the poor guy looked as if he had just witnessed someone running over a basket of puppies and then hit reverse just to make sure they had finished the job.
"Er…" Church must have seen that too and was backtracking in his head to figure out something to say. He could be an asshole sometimes, Simmons knew from personal experience, but he wasn't that much of an asshole.
"It was the people living up there that started it." Caboose's voice had an odd tinge of clarity to it that usually wasn't present when he spoke, his words holding a lot of meaning despite their more simplistic and childish phrasing.
He was right too and everyone knew it: technically the Insurrection had started things when they launched an attack on Above Ground, but the response to that by the Council and the military had been nightmarish.
No doubt most of the people who made up the Resistance now had been affected by the massacre at Level One.
He thought of Grif and his throat constricted a little.
Thinking about that event at all often made him question what he was doing here, what he was fighting for. He tried not to, really. It was easier to convince himself that if he rose high enough in the ranks maybe he could illicit some kind of positive change. Never mind how that was clearly a pipe dream by this point.
"Look, I'm…" Church seemed to be struggling for the right words at the moment, "Sorry, okay? It's just a little frustrating being stuck here."
Caboose's eyes glimmered slightly, though his overall expression still looked crestfallen.
"You said you liked coloring, right?" the cobalt-armored man asked, recalling their earlier conversation with Caboose in the tunnels, "If you bring some crayons with you next time, we'll draw together. Does that sound good?"
It was Church's odd, awkward way of extending a peace offering and, despite himself, Simmons couldn't help the watery smile forming on his face at having witnessed such a rare occurrence from his teammate. No doubt the whole thing had made Leonard Church extremely uncomfortable.
The gesture worked though because the hopeful look in Caboose's blue eyes flooded over his entire face at the suggestion.
"That will be so much fun!" he exclaimed happily, "I will bring paper too. I can't wait!"
He swore he heard Church let out a quiet sigh of relief though Simmons knew he would vehemently deny it if he ever tried mentioning it to him, and he glanced over at Donut to see that the other blond Resistance fighter was also smiling slightly again with a look of relief in his eyes. Sheila and Lopez resumed talking to one another now that the tense situation had been diffused.
It was then that someone else approached his cell, having completely caught Simmons off-guard while he'd been preoccupied with his own thoughts as well as the sudden change in the exchange between Church and the simple-minded Caboose.
He started, having to fight the instinctive urge to shrink to the far back of the enclosed space again when he saw who it was.
Grif looked as if he was fighting an inner battle with himself as he stood there, his tan face contorting into several different expressions before he finally got up the nerve to say something.
"Hey," he began, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, "We need to fucking talk."
"Hey, are you even listening to me at all?"
C.T. glanced over at the annoyed tone in South Dakota's voice. The other Freelancer was glaring at her, the scowl on her face seemingly permanent these days.
She wasn't sure if that was to do with her twin brother's defection or just the general state of things at the Mother of Invention right now and she really didn't want to risk asking.
Agent South Dakota had always had the reputation for being a powder keg about to explode, especially compared to her brother's calmer demeanor. Now she was even more volatile than ever. Talking to her about anything always seemed a risky move anymore.
She smiled apologetically, hoping to diffuse the situation somewhat, "Sorry, lost in my own thoughts again."
South's pale blue eyes still flashed with annoyance, but she begrudgingly accepted her teammate's apology, "You've been doing that a lot lately."
The brunette closed her locker, staring at her designation on the door before her, "I think all of us have a lot on our minds these days."
She managed to make herself sound neutral, voice even. She could almost clap herself on the fucking back for her performance.
"True enough."
South didn't mention North, she noticed, though her expression did cloud over with a look that Connecticut really couldn't read. She absentminded flicked a strand of blond hair out of her face, the end of it dyed a shade of purple closely resembling the orchid that was her armor's signature color.
South never mentioned him anymore, actually. It was odd in a way to think back on how the two of them had often been together more often than not, to seeing one sibling so completely isolated.
Then again, it was still hard to wrap her head around that South had shot North in the back and ripped his A.I. chip out too.
Freelancer was good at creating divisions between people, just like the city that housed the project was capable of doing.
With that kind of thinking, no wonder she had been so willing to listen to him all those years ago. A small part of her regretted that now. Most of her didn't still, though, for all that it was worth.
"So, what were you saying exactly?"
Best to put on the friendly face and stay on everyone's good side for a little while longer. Us girls have to stay together and all that, huh?
She already made it a habit to let South walk first in the halls and out on the field.
"I was just saying that I wish Carolina would make a fucking move that actually would do something instead of these piddly-ass missions." South's eyes practically burned a hole in her locker when she slammed it closed with unnecessary force, "I'm itching for a real fight."
That was probably a gross understatement given how dented her poor locker's door was looking these days.
"Everything is still in disarray here after what happened with Maine and…" she paused, noticing the sharp warning look South threw her way predicting what she was most likely about to mention and quickly changed her intended phrasing, "Everything else that's happened."
The taller woman scoffed, "Yeah, and thanks to Maine going off the deep-end and all that, plus Washington's fuck-up, the A.I. implantation program's on hold now too."
C.T. wasn't sure how having a surgery go horribly wrong somehow counted as someone "fucking up," but she chose to keep her mouth shut on that.
She suddenly understood a little more why Washington often tended to avoid South the most out of all of the Freelancers still in particular—thanks, in part, to the bitterness in her teammate's tone when it came to simply talking about him.
"Knowing Carolina, she's probably just as itching for a fight, so I'm sure we'll get bigger missions once they're allowed." She said, hoping to divert some of South's frustration away from their remaining comrades, however loose that term was for all of them now.
No doubt Carolina wanted to settle the score with a certain black-armored former Freelancer in particular. C.T. glanced at South, wondering if she wanted to the same thing with North or if the bullet in his back during his defection had been enough for her.
"I hope it's fucking soon, then." She said, "Or else I'm going to have to start punching random people in the halls."
With that cheery mental image, South gave a small wave in C.T.'s direction and left.
She sighed, feeling a bit more at ease now that she wasn't trying to navigate a temperamental social minefield at the moment.
That was, until the hidden, secure channel not-at-all-military-approved communicator located on her armor's right forearm beeped once.
It was a low sound, almost a whistle that could be misinterpreted as any sort of the different digital background noises one could feasibly hear and probably tune out in places as technologically advanced as a base like the Mother of Invention, but she had trained her ears to listen for it awhile ago more distinctly so that she could tell the difference.
It only ever went off when something urgent was happening as it was far too risky to use too much given who was sending the messages and from where.
Frowning, she opened her locker and put on her helmet once more: tapping on the underside of her right forearm's armored covering in a way that seemed to be for all intents and purposes a nervous habit to anyone else who might see it. She'd practiced going through the motions when not receiving communications as well, just to reinforce the idea that it was a gesture she did repeatedly to avoid suspicion. Eventually the message display came up in front of her face.
The communiqué was short and, even though it was just a collection of words on a digital screen, came across just as terse as the woman who sent them often did.
She let out a sharp breath, her stomach turning. She wasn't quite sure what was more upsetting: the situation Tex was describing in general or the fact that she'd been out of the loop again until just now.
Freelancer was fucking secretive all right, even when it came to missions that were supposed to be more routine in theory.
It wasn't really a surprise she'd started becoming suspicious of the project when she began to notice those sorts of activities and the divide forming between its members. In a way she was just more surprised that no one else seemed to have started putting two-and-two together until far too late.
"C.T. ."
Washington's voice came from behind her and she practically jumped, having been too engrossed in what she had been reading to notice his presence.
Then again, ever since his surgery and subsequent very extended recovery period, Washington had been becoming progressively more adept at stealth in general. He was sometimes doing better in that department than she was and that was the one combat skill of hers that C.T. took some measure of pride in.
It was almost as if he was trying to emulate the cats he had adored so much when they were kids growing up together: the ones with the pictures he still had hanging fondly in his locker despite all the teasing it used to get him from the others. Back when he was still David.
She missed those days now. Hell, she'd even let him call her Connie again if it meant she'd have a bit more of her old childhood friend back. Even if that name had taken on a different meaning for her when it had been spoken fondly by someone else a while ago, even if thinking about that name still hurt sharply.
"W—what?" she could have kicked herself for the shakiness in her voice as she hit her forearm, using her surprise motion to cover up the act.
The message display shut down. She'd have to figure out a good time to reply back to Tex as soon as possible.
Washington said nothing for a long while, staring at her fully-armored figure with an unreadable expression on his face and in his gray eyes.
She swallowed nervously, suddenly reminded of another time when he'd caught the tail-end of an actual vocal communication between herself and someone else very different from Tex.
He hadn't said anything then beyond expressing concern over her decision, but who could tell now with the changes in Washington what he would do if he suspected something strange was going on? Especially since he didn't seem to trust anyone anymore as far as he could throw them.
Finally, he said, "There's a new mission briefing. Top priority."
"Oh, okay then."
Never mind that she had just come back from a routine assignment with South then. Thanks to the intel she'd just read over, she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what this mission briefing was going to be about.
"We'd better get going."
She walked past Washington as steadily as she could, ignoring that his eyes were still fixed on her for a few seconds afterwards before he moved to catch up. She really didn't want to think that he knew or suspected anything, after all. She wasn't sure how she would react to that- or how he would, for that matter.
It looked like South was going to get her wish for more combat sooner rather than later.
Tucker wasn't the most active fighter in the Resistance. Sure, he'd do his part because he fucking volunteered for this shit for a reason, but anything past that? Generally he had to be pretty motivated.
So it was a little surprising that he found himself heading over to the newly erected (okay, he had to stop himself from snickering at his own thoughts there) prison area well before the time of Blue Team's (named oh-so-creatively for his and Caboose's colored armors) designated guard duty.
Maybe it was because he wanted to make sure his lazy-ass friend had taken his advice, maybe it was because he was bored because Junior wasn't here, or because Freckles was guarding the outer tunnels of the base and he preferred being as far away from a giant robot that thought shooting tennis balls out of the air equated to a game of "fetch," or perhaps it had to do with the fact that Caboose was probably already there so he might as well get it over with too.
He was pretty much an all or nothing sort of guy, so take your pick.
"Hey, Tucker, fancy seeing you here so early!" Donut greeted him cheerfully when he showed up. How the guy could remain so perky after five hours or so of guard duty watching prisoners who weren't really that interesting, Tucker would never know, "If you came for a shower inspection you'll be sorely disappointed. They haven't been installed yet."
"That was definitely not an image I needed in my head, Donut."
"Hygiene is very serious, you know. Helps you stretch better in all the right places." The pink-armored soldier said matter-of-factly, "Want me to show you how?"
"Dude, please stop." Tucker suppressed a groan and looked around the area.
He was surprised to see Lopez hanging around the cell of the Above Ground robot. It was a shame she turned out to be one too: her figure was pretty fine in that armor.
"What the fuck's going on there?"
Donut beamed, stage whispering which Tucker was fairly certain that was the only kind of whispering Franklin Delano Donut knew how to do, "I think Lopez is in love! Isn't that the sweetest thing you've ever seen?"
'Sweet' wasn't exactly the word he'd have used to describe it, more like 'odd' given the whole being a robot issue. But Tucker knew how much of a romantic Donut was when it came to that sort of thing, so if gushing over it made him happy who was he to judge?
"Speaking of which," Donut tilted his head to the other side of the large storage area that was serving as the Resistance prison, "Grif's been talking to that Simmons guy nonstop since he came back."
He glanced over there, sure enough seeing his friend's orange-armored back as he seemed to be animatedly discussing something with the cell's occupant. He was glad the dumbass had actually listened to him for once.
"They knew each other from awhile back. Probably just catching up." He said in response to Donut's comment.
Donut looked unconvinced, "I don't know. They seem awfully close." He looked at Tucker with an eager, hopeful look in his brown eyes, "Do you think there's something going on there?"
Tucker couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. Considering Grif's earlier reaction to his "married couple" comment, he could only imagine how he'd react to what Donut had just said.
"Dunno, you'd have to ask Kai." He told him, "She has all the details about what happened between them the last time."
Donut was about to ask him something again when Caboose bounded forward.
"Tucker, I'd like you to meet my new friend!" he exclaimed excitedly, "He is also wearing a shade of blue! A real one this time!"
Oh, the old "whatever-color-Tucker-is-wearing-doesn't-really-count-as-blue" argument. Tucker sighed, letting Caboose drag him away from the 'lightish-red' member of Red Team.
"Hey, Tucker," Donut called out to him, "Since you're here early, I'm going to go grab the cookies I baked earlier."
He nodded and Donut ran off. With Caboose hanging out here like they're back in school, and the four 'lovebirds' chatting away Tucker supposed it only made a strange sort of sense that Donut would view the whole thing as a messed up slumber party. Not that he probably wouldn't have regardless, given his general outlook on things.
It almost made him wish he'd kept Junior with him for today. Almost. He wasn't dumb enough to not know how badly the whole situation could go in a moment's notice.
Case in point: Tex of all people was going to be joining Blue Team for guard duty later. He imagined that was going to kill the fun real quick.
"Church, this is Tucker, the one I told you about!" Caboose shoved him in front of the cell of a man with a black goatee and cobalt armor, "He is very nice, even if does not really have a dog."
Church raised an eyebrow and smirked, "So you're on his team, huh?"
"Yep."
"Sucks to be you."
He wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed at the sarcastic comment, but Tucker wasn't one to not bite back, "I don't know, dude, at least I'm not some asshole stuck in here having to listen to him nonstop."
There was almost something akin to respect in Church's eyes at the comeback.
"See, everyone is getting along so great!" Caboose exclaimed happily.
He continued, "But, since that's the case and I suppose that could qualify as inhumane punishment or some bullshit…here."
Tucker tossed two small objects at Church as a sort of peace offering, both of which the other guy barely caught.
"What are they?" he looked at the small, squishy objects suspiciously.
"Earplugs. Use them or don't use them, I really don't give a fuck."
The Above Grounder looked at him somewhat gratefully, "You know, I have this weird feeling that we could almost get along."
"I don't know. I mean, if Caboose is your best friend that means your standards must be pretty fucking high."
"He also dated the mean lady!" Caboose chimed in.
"Seriously?" Tucker regarded Church carefully at that, unsure of whether or not he was impressed or just in shock that the other guy was even still alive.
"I don't want to talk about it." He grumbled bitterly.
He whistled then, having a newfound sort of respect for Church, "I'm not sure if your standards are high or you just have all sorts of shit luck."
Tex stopped walking abruptly and York looked sideways at her.
"What's wrong?" he asked her, teasing somewhat, "Cold feet?"
They were on their way to the prison cells, as Tex had volunteered to go on guard duty with Blue Team since they were undermanned. It was probably a good idea: knowing Caboose, he'd try playing with the buttons the second Tucker wasn't paying attention and open all the cells. Or somehow blow the people in them up, his mysterious setting things on fire ability with most machines was legendary. It was a surprise Freckles hadn't considered him a threat the second the assault droid had seen him given that.
She ignored his joke (which was no doubt good for him from a health stance: it was always a gamble joking with Tex), her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
"No." she said curtly. She had her helmet on. She liked wearing it whenever dealing with more personal issues, he had noticed, and was staring out ahead of her at nothing, "Change of plans, York. We're finding North and Kimball first."
He was surprised at the urgent tone in her voice, "Okay. Why though?"
"Just got a message from C.T.. An extraction plan is already underway."
Shit, that was not going to be good for anyone, especially this soon.
York seriously hoped there would be enough time to prepare, though he expected not.
After all, Carolina was involved, and if there were two things she excelled at in combat it was speed and efficiency.
The third thing would be brutality when it came to her attack style, which wasn't really that great to be on the receiving end of either- no matter how good she looked doing it.
He frowned, shaking those thoughts from his head quickly, "Let's get moving then."
"So, um…how are things?" Simmons asked lamely, mentally kicking himself for it moments later.
He hasn't seen Grif in so long and that's the first thing his brain could think of to say?
Of course, he supposed he should be grateful he managed to get anything remotely articulate out at all. He damn well near puked when Grif had shown up at his cell again after their first disastrous exchange.
Grif seemed more amused by the question than anything else, "Can't complain too much. You?"
Simmons knew that really probably wasn't true, especially given all of the years and events that had passed since the last time the two of them had talked, but he focused on the question directed at him first.
How were things going for him? Horrible, really. He'd lost his captain, lost his mother, had lost most of his humanity (had thought he'd lost Grif until a few moments ago), been captured by the enemy.
Couldn't say any of that at the moment yet, of course.
Instead, similar to Grif, all he said was, "Um, good. I'm, uh, good."
Grif seemed to be able to see right through him at that. He always had been able to really. Simmons had been surprised at how accurately Grif could read him during their time together before. He has always been terrified Grif would notice his reactions to certain exchanges in particular the more they had hung out together.
Grif raised a black eyebrow incredulously, "Bullshit you're doing fine, Simmons." He said matter-of-factly, "Look at where you are now, for fuck's sake!"
The anger in his friend's tone caused Simmons' face to heat up in embarrassment at having been caught lying.
But he felt something else too: a little bit of his own anger flaring up inside him in response. He clutched to it, desperate to say what he wanted to for once.
He couldn't do it with his father yet and with most people he'd lost the chance, but he needed to say it here, at least. He'd always been able to voice his opinions more readily in front of Grif somehow: that included anger and frustration too. He'd never really realized that before now.
"And what about you, fatass?" he asked quickly, "Look where you are!"
Grif seemed taken aback by the sudden fire in Simmons' voice and the redhead used that momentum to keep going forward.
"You said you had no interest in the Resistance!"
"You mean right before you left?"
There was an almost hurt look on Grif's face when he said it which caused Simmons to pause.
He'd felt guilty about leaving the way he had, yes, but he hadn't really expected Grif to have remained even remotely upset by it after all this time: things had obviously changed since then for both of them quite a bit, after all.
Oddly enough, while he knew he should be feeling even more guilt over that now (and he did, a little bit): the strange elated feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't something he had been expecting.
Maybe it was just because someone beyond his mom had actually cared enough to get upset over him leaving them at all. Probably.
"Er…"
Grif began talking before he could come up with something more coherent than a garbled noise, "Things changed, Simmons."
He waited and Grif finally seemed to take the cue to elaborate, "I was on Level One when Above Ground burned it." He said quietly.
"Were you…okay?"
Fuck, that sounded like a really inadequate thing to say in response.
The haunted look on Grif's face answered for him, "It was a fucking nightmare."
Simmons stopped himself from reaching through the bars to grab at Grif's hand. It had been too early for that back then when Grif had told him about his family situation and why he had climbed up to the rafters on Level One, far too early now that they'd just met again.
He thought of something else too: of the nightmares of Grif and a pretty fourteen-year-old girl who looked a lot like him despite how Grif never seemed to see it.
"Is Kaikaina all right?" he asked frantically, worry pulling at his gut again.
She had scared the living tar out of him a lot of the time and he'd hated the 'shy guy' nickname he had gotten from her even if it was true, but the thought of Grif's eccentric little sister getting hurt in that horrible mess was terrifying to him as well.
"She's fine. She was in Low Town when it happened."
He felt a massive amount of relief at that, both for her and Grif.
Grif looked genuinely touched for a moment that he'd even remembered to ask about her.
Of course, how would he forget to ask? Those few weeks he had spent with them were probably the ones that most stood out to him from his past even now.
"But we knew a lot of people who didn't make it." Grif's voice fell soft, his expression clouding over again, "Tucker's mom, for one."
Tucker was the dark-skinned boy who had been a neighbor to the two siblings. He'd seemed nice enough, in the same loud-and-almost-scary-way as Kaikaina had.
"I'm sorry."
It was another horribly inadequate sentiment to voice, but genuine.
Grif shrugged, with remarkable effort schooling his face into a less upset expression, "Well, that's my reason for being here pretty much."
He also probably felt it was the best way to protect Kaikaina too. He didn't say that though, and Simmons didn't want to upset him by saying anything too personal when Grif wasn't willing to address it himself yet. He didn't like when people did that to him, so he wouldn't do it to someone else. Besides, he really didn't want to get Grif so frustrated with him that he'd leave again. Not when they'd just started talking again. Simmons was desperate to keep this going as long as he could for reasons even he wasn't quite sure of.
He was almost expecting Grif to yell at him, to get angry and accuse him of supporting terrible people. And Simmons would have no defense for that, really: what had happened was awful and thinking maybe you could help to change things from the inside as you proved yourself was a naïve notion at best to keep clinging to, especially with his skill level.
It probably would be better if Grif did yell: it would most likely be true and would help to define what their interactions and relationship would be in the here and now a whole lot more concisely, even if another part of him was hoping for the exact opposite. Simmons had all sorts of conflicting thoughts: it would probably be for the best if Grif yelled, but he didn't want it to happen all the same and he almost could feel himself panicking at the possibility that it would.
Instead, though, Grif smiled slightly and rubbed the back of his head, "It looks like you achieved your goal though, Simmons. You're a soldier now."
He blinked, surprised at the lack of venom or accusation in the statement, "Um…yes."
"I guess being a nerd has its advantages sometimes, huh?" he joked, "I told you that before, I think."
Yeah, he'd said something similar once when he'd been impressed by Simmons' hacking skills. He still remembered it vividly because it was the only time someone had ever called him 'cool' before, even if Grif had still referred to him as a nerd in practically the same breath.
He smiled back slightly, really hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt or his normal eye as watery.
"I'm…not a great one, n—not yet." He finally managed to choke out.
The tan man scoffed, "I'm not a great soldier either, Simmons, but we take it in fucking strides." He looked at him pointedly, "I bet you haven't relaxed a day since you went back up there, huh?"
Simmons bristled at that, getting angry at the knowing smirk crossing over the other's still chubby face, "And I bet you relax way too much, Grif!"
"Tell me you at least got rid of the chore wheel."
When Simmons became red-faced again, Grif laughed, "Seriously?"
"It's a very efficient tool for time management!" he tried defending himself rather lamely.
"Whatever, dude." He was fighting back laughter now, his whole body practically shaking, "It's a tool for something, all right."
He wasn't even sure that made that much sense, really, and despite his frustration, Simmons couldn't help but smile himself.
It was strange how easily they seemed to fall into this pattern. He'd be lying if he didn't say that he had missed it horribly. He never felt this comfortable just talking to someone—ever.
Once Grif struggled not to laugh altogether and had finally stopped laughing, he looked up at Simmons' face with a sudden frown.
Specifically at the eye that cast the world he saw through it in a slight red tint.
The smile dropped from Simmons' face at that realization of what Grif was looking at, his hand suddenly moving subconsciously to block that part of his face from view.
He wasn't sure why, really. People giving him odd looks about his face and other altered body features after the surgery was nothing new anymore, but Grif looking at his face that intently made him feel very uncomfortable for some reason.
"What happened to your face?"
Leave it to Dexter Grif to be completely blunt about that kind of heavy topic.
Simmons said nothing, his brain trying to process from Grif's tone what exactly he meant by that. He probably thought it looked bad, but why did that really matter?
Grif took on a concerned look at his prolonged silence and the panicked expression crossing over his face, "Simmons, did you get hurt on a mission?"
That caught him off-guard.
Out of all the ways he'd expected Grif to probably react to his cybernetics, genuine concern had not been one of them.
"Um…no, I didn't." he tried getting the flustered tone out of his voice and failed miserably, "I—I volunteered."
Grif had a blank look on his face and Simmons let out a tired sigh: looks like he'd have to explain in more detail then.
"There was an experimental program awhile ago for cybernetic enhancements. I volunteered for it." He took in a deep breath, "It—it's not just that part of my face that got augmented. I replaced—some of my appendages and organs too."
Simmons tried faking a brave, prideful sort of smile (and probably failed miserably at it) as he added, "Sixty-five percent metal now: give or take."
Grif said nothing, looking the rest of him over as if he could see what Simmons was talking about through his armor. The idea made his face and neck turn a vivid hue that almost matched his armor and he tried really hard to kick that mental image as far away from his head as possible.
It was easy enough in a way to do if he imagined that Grif probably pictured something hideous underneath his maroon armor. That was usually how most people's thoughts went when it came to cybernetics even now thanks to movies from Old Earth despite the actual appearance of cybernetic enhancements not being all that terrible in reality. Still though, Simmons had never thought of himself as being that attractive in the first place: easy enough for him to imagine that augmentations of that level simply only added to that.
He tried really hard not to dwell on how he got upset by that notion all the same.
"Why?" Grif finally asked, looking him directly in the eyes again, both the green one and red one.
Simmons blinked, taken aback by the question.
"Why'd you volunteer for something like that?"
It if had been near impossible to talk to Sheila about that, it was even worse with Grif. He didn't want to let him know what a mess he'd been after everything, how sometimes when things messed up with the new parts or he was reminded of what he'd done he still panicked thinking he had made a massive mistake he could never take back.
Worse yet, it had only caused him to have minimal improvements at best, so either Simmons or the experiment itself was a gigantic failure. His self-esteem was so low already that he was leaning more towards the failure being him.
Grif seemed to read the conflicted expression on his face again. It was amazing how he could do that so easily in certain ways, but be oblivious in other instances to things Simmons was far too certain were extremely transparent in his body language around Grif to not be noticed at times. Simmons almost jumped when Grif actually reached through the bars of the cell and touched his shoulder in a placating, calming gesture for a moment.
"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to explain why to me." He grinned slightly, "It's kind of ballsy, in a way."
Shit, there it was again.
Simmons knew it really wasn't, especially since he had all of the technical details stuck in his head. Not only that, but he could feel all of the metal and circuitry that replaced flesh and bone in painfully distinct ways: he was well-aware of what he had given up in a phenomenal moment of weakness and stupidity coupled with the irony of the vey little he probably truly had gained. Still, hearing praise of any sort from anyone always threw him for a loop. The fact that it came from Grif again, who had been probably one of the very first people to ever do so in his life, made that strange fluttering feeling form in his stomach all over again.
He really, really hoped he didn't vomit.
Despite himself, he couldn't help but respond in a very silly, overly-eager way, "R—really?"
Grif's smile took on a nostalgic tint as Simmons' response had probably reminded him far too much of when they had interacted as teenagers, "Well, I'd probably never have the guts to do it."
Simmons couldn't help but give a weak smile back, "I don't know. You probably won't be thinking that way when I become cyborg overlord of the whole planet like in all of those old science-fiction series."
He laughed at that, "Please, I think Lopez and the other robots would beat you to it."
"¿Quién querría descartar que imbéciles? Tengo suficientes problemas apenas te toleran tal como es." {"Who would want to rule you morons? I have enough problems barely tolerating you as it is."}
"You never know though. I'd make chore wheels mandatory by punishment of death." He joked.
"Okay, you see, you just lost what little cool points you had right there by saying that."
The two continued conversing back and forth: sometimes just talking, sometimes bickering.
They talked about a lot of things: Simmons' time during his training and in the military (well, beyond anything remotely confidential. Not that Simmons knew much anyways); interesting stories about the Resistance that were more personable and not anything confidential either;; what Kaikaina had been up to (some of the stories Grif told were pretty hard to swallow, but Simmons supposed anything was possible concerning Grif's sister); Tucker's even more improbable alien pregnancy and the subsequent birth of his son ("Hey, fatass, don't say anything weird about my family!" was heard a little ways away from them); Grif's C.O. who apparently had a far too unorthodox approach to most things according to Grif; and teammate shenanigans. Church flipped them the finger through the bars of his cell when Simmons mentioned his aim and Donut gave a cheerful wave and an offer to showcase his tossing when Grif mentioned him. Simmons really hoped meant his throwing skill and nothing else.
Simmons even mentioned Captain Flowers, though not that he was killed by Resistance fighters as he was unsure of the wisdom of mentioning that here. He even mentioned his mother too eventually. He tried not to let his voice break too much then.
Grif said nothing beyond a quiet apology and a sympathetic hand on Simmons' shoulder, which he was grateful for. It was bad enough getting emotional when he was always made fun of for it in the past, having it be brought to attention anymore than that would have been really embarrassing.
He'd almost forgotten that they were standing on opposite sides of a cell or that there were even other people around. He was just talking to Grif and that was the most natural thing in the world to him at the moment.
Even after the Red Team's guard duty shift had officially ended, Grif remained standing there with him. Their throats were practically raw from talking so much, but neither really noticed.
Eventually, they did finally reach a lull in the conversation though. He had no idea how much time had passed by that point: definitely hours, it seemed. There was still so much to say too, it was just a good point for regrouping.
Grif yawned, "Man, talking for this long really is kind of exhausting, huh?"
"You say that about everything."
It was good to see that some things never changed, at least.
Simmons tried schooling his smile into an exasperated frown though to further prove his point.
"And it's usually true." Grif grinned back at him, not at all phased by Simmons' pseudo-annoyed response in the slightest, "I could use a nap."
"What?" Simmons blinked, his tone incredulous, "Here?"
"Why not? I have perfected the art of napping anywhere, remember?" he puffed out his chest in pride, and Simmons remembered having a similar conversation a long time ago with him, "It's quite handy."
"But—"
"Besides, I'm not on guard duty anymore so it's technically free-time for me so I can be anywhere I want, doing whatever I want for a change." He raised an eyebrow at Simmons in an amused sort of way, "And I'm assuming you don't have anywhere else you need to be at the moment?"
"You lazy fuck." Even with the joking comment that came at his expense on account of his current situation as a result of a mission failure that probably should have annoyed him or made him angry a lot more than it actually ended up doing, Simmons couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips in the face of Grif's bizarre logic.
"I try to be." The orange-armored man joked back in response to Simmons' comment, causing the Above Grounder to shake his head in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
With that, Grif turned his back to Simmons and dropped to the floor of the makeshift prison block—leaning against the bars of the cell in a sitting position.
He looked up at Simmons expectantly, apparently waiting for the other man to do the same.
The redhead swallowed nervously, "Y—you really want to waste time napping?"
"It's not wasting time if you enjoy doing it, Simmons." He said in that pseudo-sage voice he'd used quite often as a teenager.
Shaking his head slightly in disbelief, Simmons finally did the same. Turning his back to Grif, he sat down on the floor of his cell with his back against the bars.
He immediately made a face. This was a lot more uncomfortable than Grif had made it look. The floor was hard and battle armor was insanely clunky when one was not moving in it. How Grif could nap in any capacity in it probably was a testament to his self-proclaimed ability to be able to nap anywhere. Not to mention that his cybernetic limbs screamed at him in protest through all sorts of pain signals when he tried repositioning them in any way.
"Besides, at least this time I know you'll still be around when I wake up."
Simmons' eyes opened wide at that comment and he turned his head to try to look at Grif again despite the odd angle that it contorted his body into, just to make sure he'd actually spoken since it had been practically a mumble.
Grif wasn't looking at him though. Grif's face was pointed towards the space directly in front of him and his brown eyes already closed.
But there was an odd, slight tinge of pink on what little skin was visible on the back of his neck.
Simmons couldn't help the smile that spread on his face again or the sudden redness that he knew had probably appeared there too judging by how hot that part of his body felt once more.
And, just as quickly, in that moment sitting on the floor of the Resistance prison back-to-back as they were through the bars of his cell Simmons was struck with the notion that this very same spot that he couldn't adjust to earlier no matter what he did was probably the most comfortable place he had ever been.
Author's Notes: Gah, I am not the best when it comes to writing romance so I apologize if any of that came out forced or read weird!
But, in apology for that mean cliffhanger from the last chapter I wanted to be nice and throw in some actual lengthier Grimmons this time around for everyone in order to end things on a fluffier note than I tend to do normally! :D
Next chapter is the start of what I'd like to describe as "when something really starts to hit the fan," so that should be pretty interesting to write with a bit more action and tenser sequences than I'm used to doing. XD
Anyways, I hope this chapter and fluff was well worth the wait. :) Thank you again for taking the time to read this fic!