#grif and simmons being separated and never seeing each other again is fine

[too-cool-for-facebook]

I don't think I've been in this much of a queerbait-denial since the end of BBC Sherlock

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Where are you going to put the ring?

Read it on AO3

Grif and Simmons are kidnapped by aliens after a communication error goes wrong. The crew goes to find them and Tucker hatches a plan to finally end years of pining.

Simmons woke up in a cold sweat, which, of course, was nothing new to him, but this time it was warranted as he was laying in what looked like an asylum room minus the padding. Hard, almost blinding tile covered the walls, ceiling, and floor and seemed to be radiating their own light as well, even though he couldn’t feel any heat. There was nothing particular that stood out to him but it was unnerving all the same.

He tried to recall exactly what had happened before -- there has been a large beam of light from one of the alien temples on Chorus after Tucker had unlocked it with his sword, he remembered. It was only after Santa had told them it was distress temple and they just called the nearest Sangheili to them did they panic. Why that was kept separate from the Communication’s Temple didn’t make any sense, but alien logic, he guessed, was different. They had all stayed at the temple overnight to try and convince the aliens it was an accident and they should leave, and of course, Grif got hungry and had to wander off. And then Simmons had to go after him and then there was a ship and large blue bodies that seemed all too familiar and-

“Grif!” Simmons panicked, looking around the room for the first time and, luckily, spotted the orange armor. He scrambled over to him, urgently shaking him, but his panic only grew worse when no response came to him. “Grif?”

A new fear flooded his body. What if the aliens had been too rough with him? What if he had been enough of a smart ass and they killed him and left him here as a warning for Simmons-

And then there was the tell-tale sound of snoring and a second later the sound of armor hitting armor as Simmons punched Grif’s helmet.

“You lazy piece of shit! You scared me!” He sighed, allowing himself to relax a fraction now that he knew his teammate was just being his usual self. A bit of familiarity was good in this situation, he guessed. He sat back, hugged his knees, and watched the now noticeable rise and fall of Grif’s chest under the suit. He did it sometimes when he couldn’t sleep -- it was oddly relaxing. He almost felt his own eyes drooping at the rhythmic sight and quickly shook his head to clear the cobwebs invading his mind. He nudged Grif with his foot. “Wake up, Grif. We gotta find a way out of here.”

Maybe they didn’t, though. The guys surely had noticed they were missing by now, right? They had to have seen the ship take off. They were looking for a way to get them back as the sat here waiting.

Were they moving? Simmons didn’t feel any movement but he knew some spaceships had that effect, especially if they were towards the middle.

He barely stifled a whine as he shook Grif this time. “Come on, Grif. W-We don't have time for this.” He was replied to with a loud snore. He was over this -- he stood up and gave a firm, but not too rough, kick to the side of Grif’s armor.

There was a small whimper as Grif’s arms moved to hold the assaulted spot, turning to face away from Simmons. “Let me sleep dammit.” He groaned.

“We don’t have time to sleep!”

“I don’t care if Sarge wants to run stupid drills. I want sleep.” Grif huffed before snoring again a few seconds later.

Simmons was about to kick him again when a panel in the wall opened up on his left. He froze, one foot in the air as he stared at the hole in the white light that surrounded them, finding a red and green alien staring at them. He yelped, losing his balance and falling to the floor with a thump.

The two creatures dragged their feet towards them, blarghing and honking all the way. Simmons was silent as the green one towered over him -- if he had sweat glands he was pretty sure there would be a pool by now.  He didn’t dare break eye contact with it until its own head turned towards a questioning honk. The red one stood over the unmoving Grif, blarghing at him but with no response. He barely rendered what he saw before he moved -- watching the red claw-like limb move quickly down towards Grif’s head. Simmons was quicker than he remembered being because there wasn’t any sound of a head being crushed but instead metal bending, wires snapping, and the sound of kevlar suit ripping as his vision turned dark.

 Simmons was really glad he couldn’t feel pain in his cyborg parts.

“Simmons?”

Grif’s voice was actually rather comforting, and he slowly opened his right eye to look up at his teammate’s worried face, both of them now helmetless. He struggled to sit up, having trouble pinpointing exactly why that was until he saw a piece of maroon armor sitting on the floor a few feet away from them. An entire limb of maroon armor, actually.

He feels like he should have screamed, but instead, he just looked down at his shoulder, some wires tied together that Grif must have done in an effort to help him, and then back at the missing limb before looking at Grif again. “Are you okay?”

Grif looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “Am I okay? Dude! You’re missing your fucking arm!”

“It’s not like I can feel it. You were the one almost getting your head banged in by an alien claw!”

“You are waaay too fucking calm,” Grif muttered to himself after a few more seconds of staring at his friend. “Did they hit your head instead? Since when do you care if my head gets bashed in or not?”

Simmons opened his mouth only to close it a second later, looking down at the tangled mess of wires again, an orange and maroon one fittingly tied together. “Sarge can fix it. And Dr. Grey can make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.”

Grif sighed, settling back up against one of the walls. “I never thought I’d be asking this: but where the fuck even is Sarge? If it was just me I’d expect him to convince them to leave me with the weird fuckers, but you’re here, too.”

Simmons felt like protesting but his head was still too blurry to even properly register what Grif had said.  He just slouched in on himself and stared at his right arm, blinking with only his organic eye while the other half of his vision was dark and unnerving. Grif was right… They should have found them by now, right? Then where were they?

-----

“Dang nabbit, Simmons! Where in Sam’s hell are ya?”

Sarge banged the control panel of the ship with his fist. Tracking Simmons’ cyborg parts was supposed to be easy! How come, all of a sudden, he was offline?

“I thought you said you had this?” Carolina cooly asked him from behind and he couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. Damn these Freelancer girls! Always so strong and cool!"

“I do have this, thank you very much! I just gotta find Simmons’ signal, or, if it comes down to it, we can try faxing something to him.”

She sighed, leaving the red leader alone to his frustrations. He just lost half of his team to aliens that might be out for blood -- anyone would be nervous, even if he wouldn’t admit to it. She knew she should have kept a closer eye on Grif, but he had proven sneakier than she had thought. Maybe that training had actually done him some good. Too bad all it did was get him and his teammate kidnapped. And as a result, they were all left to deal with the messy pieces; also known as Donut’s uncontrollable emotions and Sarge’s crazy, life-risking plans. She could almost imagine Grif and Simmons were enjoying the silence for once. Granted, it never would be silence with only those two now would it.

“Dammit, do these idiots ever shut up?”

“I’ve told you before, it’s part of our charm.”

Tucker was leaning against a wall of the ship, with a stupid little smirk on his face that spoke “haha I wasn’t the one to fuck up this time.”

Carolina waited a second for Epsilon to respond with some witty comeback before a heavy realization hit her again for the fifth time that day. “Charm is not how I would put it.”

“I’m sure it’s the way those two are seeing it. Being stuck alone on an alien spaceship with the possibility of certain death? Sounds like the plot to a porno to me: bow-chicka-bow-wow.” When he was met with Carolina’s expressionless (and really tired) face he sighed, pushing off the wall to look at least a little concerned. It was a trick he had learned in countless meetings with Kimball. “They’re fine. If they aren’t fucking yet, I’m sure they’re arguing about some stupid movie or something. They’re tougher than they seem. Especially together. It’s like that cliche where true love prevails or whatever. Simmons has this weird six sense when it comes to Grif and Grif is the only one who can calm Simmons down enough so he isn’t having a panic attack every five seconds and, well, long story short they can handle each other until we find them.” He walked towards her, patting her shoulder as he passed her. “We’re not losing anyone else, okay?” There was an air of sympathy and connection in the quick look he gave her before walking into the control room.

Tucker was greeted with a metal panel flying towards his head which he quickly dodged, letting it hit the wall instead. “What the hell?” He asked as he saw Sarge digging through the ships inner workings.

“Red Sergeant says he is upgrading the ship to find Simmons’ metal-thingy parts!” Caboose answered, as oblivious as ever.

“Somethin’s obviously broken! I can’t track Simmons without the tracking system in proper working order! That just doesn’t make any daggum sense!”  Sarge added, voice muffled by how his head was currently stuck inside the machinery.

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Tucker sighed, his fucks could not be less here. “Have you tried just looking for the alien ship that took them? They give off a pretty big signal on the radar.”

Sarge’s head popped up into view. “That’s ridiculous! We want the element of surprise!”

“Uh, dude.” Tucker grabbed his sword, activating it and letting its dim blue light demonstrate his point. “We might be able to talk some sense into them.”

It took several more minutes of bickering before Tucker was able to convince the red team leader into closing the hole he made and searching for the alien ship instead, finding the giant within five minutes. The whole crew stood in the cockpit now, surrounding Tucker at the com.

“Do all of you seriously have to stare at me?”

“They’re my men! I deserve to hear from them!”

“They aren’t going to be the ones to answer! You guys aren’t even going to be able to understand the aliens!” Tucker explained. They were lucky he could even understand the aliens after having to learn to talk to Junior. “Ugh, fine. You can stay but don’t say a fucking word, got it?”

Soon after the outgoing call was answered and a series of intimidating blarghs and honks filled the cockpit. Tucker buckled very slightly under the words, he forgot how straightforward this species was. That was until the conversation progressed a little bit.

“He what?” Tucker could feel himself paling a little bit at the thought of Simmons’ arm being ripped off, glancing at Sarge for a moment before quickly staring back down at the com. “Are you sure that was him?”

These mates are very odd.

Tucker had to keep himself from breaking out into laughter. “You- You think they’re-” He quickly composed himself then looked back at an inquisitive Carolina, a smirk growing on his face as his planned form. “They are, we know. Hey, if you let us on this ship we can arrange something with you, okay? I can explain the whole situation in more detail.”

This was going to be the best day ever.

-----

Grif had managed to convince Simmons to rest, propping his back up against the wall while he stayed awake just in case the aliens came back. Whenever he felt himself dozing off he glanced at the severed arm still in the middle of the room and that promptly woke him up. He still couldn’t believe…

He didn’t get to finish his thought as the door slid open, and in walked two figures. One was unexpected.

“Tucker!” Grif scrambled up, trying to wake Simmons up with his foot while never taking his eyes off the alien. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh, hey Grif.” Tucker sounded as relaxed as ever. “Good to see you guys are all in one piece,” he paused, glancing at the floor, “mostly, at least.”

Grif glared at him openly, as he had never bothered to put his helmet back on. Before he had the chance to respond, though, Simmons stumbled up, using Grif as a support as he blinked his eye into focus.

“Tucker?”

“Perfect, he’s up! Now, uh, bad news. We’re getting you out of here but the aliens have a bit of a custom, I guess? It’s kinda like a wrestling match but instead of going up against a two-ton man made of muscle, you’re going up against a two-ton armored monster.”

The two of them stared at the teal soldier, Simmons’ expression blank while Grif looked scared out of his wits and he squeaked: “What?”

“Yeah! It’s like to make sure you’re worthy of freedom or some shit, I don’t know. So, uh, this big guy is going to escort you to the battlefield or something, yeah.” He patted the alien’s back before beginning to back out of the room. “And we’ll be in the background the whole time so make it a good show okay bye.”

“Wait, what?” Grif barely had time to react as the alien picked both him and Simmons up over his shoulder. He weakly pushed against him, trying to wiggle free but to no avail. “Tucker! You fucking asshole!”

They were carried into a large hall deeper into the ship, placed across from each other at one end of it. Looking around, the walls were just as blank as the cell was, the only glaring difference was the lighting and the weapons mounted on the walls. The alien blarghed at them before walking out, and Grif didn’t waste any time in flipping him off as he walked away.

So, what happened now? Did they just wait here for their demise? He really hoped Sarge enjoyed watching him get ripped to shreds.

The answer came soon enough as the door opened again and a growling blue alien walked through, looking like a predator stalking its prey. “Oh, shit...” Grif muttered, glancing at Simmons who looked like he was still half asleep, swaying as he stood there, eye closed. “Simmons?”

He heard claw-like footsteps speeding towards them. Which was a problem in itself but even more so as Grif recognized the alien was making a bee-line for Simmons, who was yet to realize the situation. “Simmons!” Grif acted faster than he usually did, jumping and tackling Simmons out of the way of the charging alien, hearing the thump of the armor ramming the wall.

“Uhm, Grif?” Grif’s eye’s met Simmons’ at only a few inches away from hitting foreheads. “Why are you laying on top of me?”

“Because someone decided to doze off. Not the time to be slacking, Simmons.” Grif scolded as he got up off of his friend, catching sight of the alien’s head still partially stuck in a newly formed dent in the wall.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” Simmons’s grunted as he struggled to stand up, catching sight of their surroundings for the first time. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Long story short, Tucker got us wrapped up in some alien ritual or whatever. So that guy is trying to kill us. I think.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah." Grif glanced back at the stumbling Simmons behind him. “Just, try to not fall over, alright?”

“Great plan.” The eye roll was audible. “What are you going to do?”

“Distract him. Grab, like, a gun or something and start shooting.”

“Wait, what? Grif-”

Before he could finish Grif was waving his arms at the now free alien, gaining nothing more than a little glance before the blue monster charged for Simmons again.  What the hell?  He thought as he ran after the alien, jumping on its back and causing it to stumble backwards, sending them both to the ground. “Don’t just stand there, move!” Grif ordered, causing Simmons to yelp and quickly move to one of the weapon-covered walls.

“There aren’t any guns!” He yelled back, panic rising. “I-I don’t know what any of this stuff is!”

Grif rolled away from the alien, getting up just as he did, earning a growl. “Shit. Uh,” he looked behind him, finding more weapons. He grabbed what looked like a glowing staff, blue carvings lighting up as he swung with all his strength onto the head of the alien. Sparks flew as electricity coursed through the alien before he promptly fell to the floor. “That’s handy.”

“Jesus Christ, Grif are you okay?” Simmons was already by his side by the time Grif put the staff back. His organic arm touched his own forearm in what he assumed was a comforting manner.

“Uh, yeah. You doing good?” When Simmons nodded Grif quickly added, “Good because I need someone to cover my duties when we get back to Chorus. I need a month-long nap.”

“Grif!” Came the obligatory, high-pitched response that never failed to make him smile.

-----

They were all finally back on the ship, Simmons and Grif sitting next to each other in the open central space. They had all silently agreed they deserved the rest for the moment being. Sarge had placed a black garbage bag over the hole created by Simmons’ missing arm, claiming it worked in preventing damage until he could properly fix it while Grif had almost fallen asleep when Caboose’s voice broke through the silence.

“So how was the surprise party? Are there any babies?”

Grif cracked only one eye open to look at the blue soldier. “What are you talking about, Caboose?”

“Tucker said you guys were getting married as a surprise!” Simmons was awake now, a faint red covering his the pale side of his face. “That must mean there are babies.”

“Tucker!”

“Not my fault, dude! It was the perfect opportunity to end, like, fifteen years of sexual tension between you two. Don’t worry, Donut’s already setting up the honeymoon.”

“How did you even-”

“The Sangheili already thought you guys were fucking, just like everyone else does. I just talked them into a wedding ceremony.” The fucker looked so proud of himself.

“That wasn’t a wedding, that was a set up to fucking kill us, jackass!” Grif looked about ready to strangle Tucker, which, Simmons was okay with right now.

“That’s their wedding customs. Two males have to fight over the female and whoever comes out on top gets to keep her. Just be glad I talked them down to just that part -- the rest would have gotten real uncomfortable, real quick.”

Simmons just covered his face as best as he could with one hand, listening to Grif and Tucker argue back and forth. They were never going to hear the end of this. Then again, maybe that was a good thing. If Tucker followed through with that honeymoon promise, maybe they could get a vacation that didn’t involve nearly dying every other day. Soon enough, he pushed Grif back into his seat. “Just give it up, Grif.”

“Yeah, listen to your husband, Grif. Accept it and thank me later.”

There wasn’t a moment of quiet for the next few hours, but Simmons managed to sleep through most of it, head on Grif’s shoulder the entire way home.

[a-taller-tale]

Mad World 

Summary: Simmons gets a mysterious message in the present. Meanwhile in the past, Grif has to explain how birthdays don't matter to an alien spark plug. No matter how time travel works, Back to the Future III will always be relevant. Notes: A @redvsbluesecretsanta gift for @creatrixanimi, who was amazingly patient when life blew up and I needed a few extra days. Also thanks to the RvB Secret Santa mods for organizing such a fun event again this year!

Also on Ao3

The Present

Nobody really celebrated things in Blood Gulch, especially not birthdays. Simmons could admit now that it was a miserable, boring, hot, pointless box canyon in the desert with nothing to do except run drills, do paperwork, patrol Red Base, and—on especially boring days–-try to see what the guys at the Blue Base were doing.

Then the rookies showed up, one Red, one Blue, and everything got a lot weirder. Besides Donut messing up Simmons’ chance at a promotion by somehow wheedling his way into Sarge’s good graces, both rookies were kind of young when they joined up, and very stupid. Neither of them seemed to understand the basic concept of being at war. And suddenly everything was a reason to celebrate.

Donut’s Daily Wine and Cheese Hour started first. Then there was Church’s Best Friend Celebration Spectacular, which Grif and Simmons had attended so they could get the food Donut made for it, and watch Church’s torment.

Sarge decided he wanted in on the action and started making up random holidays when he was bored. And then it was basically non-stop. Interventions, War-iversaries, Armistice Day (for Red and Blue movie nights), and when they couldn’t think of anything else, eventually even birthdays were a thing.

They weren’t as large an occasion as National Hot Dog Day, but they’d be as nice to the birthday guy as possible (which they usually gave up on five minutes in and dragged him more than usual). Then there’d usually be a presentation of old warthog parts wrapped up like presents so they'd have something to unwrap.

Donut always made cake, and Sarge allowed it after Donut swore up and down he wouldn’t make another one to jump out of because he didn’t want the joke to go stale.

Simmons got a party after he told everyone when his birthday was and planted hints all over the Valhalla base that no one could escape. He’d timed it perfectly too, starting a week in advance to account for how long his teammates would hold out to avoid giving him positive attention before they cracked.

“Okay! The surprise party is tomorrow!” Grif yelled. “Please no more texts about how your dad never came to your birthdays! I can’t take it anymore!”

Freckles had a birthday at Crash Site Bravo. Simmons didn’t remember a lot of it because of the blinding terror of being held hostage by a Mantis-class military assault droid and Caboose, who wasn’t famous for his leadership skills or track record of most accidental kills.

They didn’t always celebrate everyone’s birthdays every year, except for when they were on Iris. A lot of times throughout the years, they were busy with life threatening crap. There were accidents, and conspiracies, and missions to take out corrupt old white guys who were sometimes someone’s dad.

But as Simmons stares at the alert that just pinged his HUD, he has no idea how he hadn’t realized they’ve never done a birthday for Grif.

Sure, Sarge likes to joke about him being an unnatural abomination. But they had to have had one birthday thing.

After the Shizno incident was over, they came back to Iris with some pizza-to-go so they could try to have some time off again. Grif didn’t seem that happy to be back, but then again “retirement moon” had been Blood Gulch level of vacation, what with the never ending robot vs. dinosaur wars. And they had to chase some nesting dinosaur squatters out of the base before they could settle in again too.

In a moment that was still crystal clear to Simmons--despite the months of time traveling with Sarge, and then being stuck in a Blood Gulch time bubble--Grif had said he thought everyone hated him. He'd been certain of it, and weirdly calm. Not apathetic though. Resigned.

Simmons thinks it should be obvious by now that the ribbing is just the way that they talk to each other, and he'sthe one with anxiety. Even Sarge makes sure Grif is always with them now. Has been extra eagle-eyed since they got separated.

To use another manly metaphor, Grif's one of the supporting beams on Red Team. Without him they'll fall apart and Sarge would probably go crazy and try to sell everyone out to a serial killer so he could be a movie star. ...Again.

But when Simmons tried to tell Grif that, he only downgraded his importance to “hate glue.”

Simmons frowns at a cobweb clinging to the wall that he must have missed when he tricked everyone into celebrating Spring Cleaning, and realizes with his stomach slowly flipping that they never showed Grif he was important. And Grif noticed, even though he pretended not to care.

Grif thought they all hated him, could still think that, and they never gave him a reason not to. They’d been stuck together for fifteen years, had a drinking night dedicated to the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic last week, and they never threw a party for Grif.

Simmons pulls up their personnel files. He's filled out forms for Grif, of course. Comes with the territory of carrying Red Team through bureaucracy and making sure they get their pay and also file their taxes right. So how had this date never really registered before?

May the Fourth.

Grif's right. It always comes back to Star Wars.

The Past

Huggins loved talking, and she loved people watching, and watching human movies. Like Die Hard. She and Grif got along super well really fast for her being a lens flare with knowledge supposedly beyond human comprehension.

They’d finally broken down to camp for the night after another day of walking across a country.

What Grif wouldn’t give for some methshrooms now, but he’d used up the last of his stash during the last big battle and hadn’t had the chance to restock before they walked right into more shenanigans without even a pizza break.

And now he was hiking. Something Huggins had totally tricked him into by mentioning his sister. He’d pulled a Sarge move and unloaded his gun at her, because that was dirty pool and she deserved it. But if this were a TV show, she was way better sidekick material than that reporter lady. Plus, he probably should check on his sister now that he knew she wasn't dead and buried in Blood Gulch, and just lost in time like him instead. Nothing better to do in a world without pizza.

“What are birthdays like?” Huggins chirped, interrupting his thoughts.

Grif blinked at the wood he had been kicking into a pile. Oh right, he was trying to build a fire. Not that he needed it with armor on that he was going to sleep in rather than sleeping on the ground, but when you were camping, fires were always necessary for atmosphere. And roasting marshmallows.

“Uh… I dunno,” he said. “Usually the same bullshit happens as any other day.”

“I don’t get the appeal of most other human traditions, but isn’t there cake and singing and celebration and presents? I thought that was important, since you humans don’t live so long.”

“Okay, one: Cake is always important. And B: Yeah, birthdays are a big thing, but only when you’re a kid. When you’re an adult, typically no one gives a fuck.”

Huggins flew in an anxious little circle around Grif’s head, settling into a hover in front of his visor. She had no face that he could see, but he got the impression that there were concerned eyes on him anyway. “But your friends—”

“Have their own shit going on right now, if you haven’t noticed the epic quest you’re leading me on. I’ll be happy if I can just get a slice of pizza after all this is over.”

Huggins clucked her non-existent tongue. Sentient light beings didn’t have tongues, so what made that noise? Unless she had a more alien humanoid type body and he just couldn’t see it with human eyes. Or she was extra-dimensional and the big spark was all that came through. Or—

“After I complete my mission and we defeat the Shizno, we will get pizza,” she said.

Grif cracked a smile, and he was covered by a helmet, but she always seemed to know when she got him to smile and ran with it.

“Ten pizzas!” She declared, zooming up and down dizzyingly, her light brightening. “And an Oreo cake!”

Grif scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the smile from his voice. “Make that an ice cream Oreo cake and you have yourself a deal.”

“Deal!” she yelled instantly. “I can’t wait to go to a human birthday party!”

“Hey, no one said anything about it being a birthday party.”

“It’s going to be your birthday party. And it will not be bull shit.”

“Hey, if you say so. It can be my birthday, if there’s Oreo ice cream cake on the line. And I’m getting the hint that spark plugs—”

“Sentient light beings.”

“—don’t have birthdays, huh? I guess you can share mine as long as you pay for the pizza and cake and beer. I might even let you have some of the cake.”

“Hey, I never said anything about beer. And human food is gross! You can keep it.”

Grif snickered.

The Future

Unfortunately, Huggins never got to follow through on her threat to throw Grif a birthday party.

They fixed almost everything, and came back to Iris, and they even got pizza on the way. But they couldn't save Huggins.

He’s been sleeping and bingeing TV for a few days. Almost no one's bothered him, though Kai's come in to visit and poke him a few times.

It's fine. Okay, not really fine, but it's normal. You win some, you lose some. Just like every other stupid adventure. And he's getting used to losing by now.

Grif stares at the light on the bedroom ceiling. Wonders if Huggins went out like a lightbulb, all burnt and cracked and blackened. He hopes there's an afterlife for little spotlights that talk way too much exposition.

“Hey Grif!”

How the hell does Sarge always sound like he has a megaphone when Grif knows for a fact he doesn’t know how to work the amplifier in his armor?

“What?!” Grif screams through the wall, not moving an inch from his bed. “I’m busy!”

“Get your lazy ass out here, Grif!” comes Simmons’ voice next. He's also good at projecting. If Grif didn't know better, he'd say he was a closet theater kid.

“Fuck off, Simmons!”

“Pretty please.” Grif jumps. Caboose’s voice is at a normal volume, and soft and coaxing, but right outside the door.

Goddammit, of course they sent Caboose. Cheaters.

“Ugh, fine. I’m coming.” Grif rolls out of his blanket nest, ruffling up his hair, and throwing on a semi-clean shirt he’s only worn once from the laundry pile on the floor.

The instant he opens the door, he's greeted not by Caboose, but by the smell of something extremely burnt coming from the kitchen. “Donut better not have set the base on fire again,” Grif complains as he trudges into the common area the Reds and Blues share.

“That better not have been a crack about my cooking,” Carolina says, her arms folded across her chest. Carolina's less scary now that they're kinda friends and he's seen her super baked.

Actually, nah, she's still the same amount of scary when she wants to be, but her mouth is twitching up in the corner. Joking.

“Just stating facts—“ Grif freezes mid-step as he registers the rest of the room.

There's a messy banner that was obviously half-painted by Donut in pastel shades of red, and the other half also obviously by Caboose because it says “Happy Birthday, Girff.”

“Who’s Girff?” he says automatically to cover for his shock. There are streamers, and music playing from a comically antique boom box, and a poster of Blade taped over the sink?

It's also a full house with Wash and Carolina, and also Doctor Grey and Kimball, and the mockumentary film crack team of Dylan Andrews and the guy that filmed for her. Sarge is standing with a twitchy nervous Simmons near the front, and the lieutenants are setting up board games and pizza and appetizers on the table, while Bitters leans back against the wall casually.

“Girff is you, stupid!” Kaikaina says, ambushing him from the side with a bear hug. “Happy birthday, bro!”

Donut swings in from the back where the kitchen is, twirling on one heel, holding a cake decorated with delicate swirls of peach icing and orange flowers. “I just whipped this one up quickly!”

“You made a back-up cake,” Carolina says flatly, turning a real glare on Donut.

“Of course! ” he says breezily. “Nothing can be left to chance on such an important occasion! Always use protection!”

It's really hard for Grif to act cool about this. Everything about the dumb party shows how much they know him, down to the Battlestar Galactica special edition of Clue.

Especially when Simmons shows him the message he got. It was a text alert from a post office on a remote colony that had been holding onto a parchment letter for 1000 years to give to a Dick Simmons on an exact date at an exact hour. The post office wanted some ridiculous fees for the hard copy to be delivered, but luckily they sent Simmons the transcription.

It was a note to save the date for today, and make Grif’s next birthday the party of the century.

Fucking time travel.

Grif had always wanted some ancient clever letter from a time traveler delivered to him with an auspicious warning, or a hundred billion dollars. But he's really glad he knows Huggins liked Back to the Future III now. They hadn’t gotten to those movies in their pop culture conversations yet.

Donut put sparklers in the cake, and when he lights them, the sparks shoot up and down and dance and fly around excitedly.

Surrounded by his family and friends, Grif blows out the candles.

Children waiting for the day they feel good Happy birthday Happy birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen Sit and listen

And I find it kinda funny I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you I find it hard to take When people run in circles It's a very very Mad world Mad world

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Don’t Write Me A Postscript Chapter: I (II / III / IV / V / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI /  XII /  XIII) Fandom: Red vs Blue Characters: Church | Alpha, Tucker, Micheal Caboose | Agent California | Micheal-210, Kaikaina Grif | Sister | Agent Kansas, Dr. Leonard Church | Director, Jerome Dupris | Agent Nevada Summary: He was all sorts fucked up and didn’t want to admit it. Being alone for fourteen months didn’t help matters--except, well, Church was tired of being alone. Tired of people leaving and people dying--and he thought, no more. I’m done. I’m out.

Won’t Say You’re Sorry (I / II / III)

Do You Even Feel Compassion? (I / II)

Church sighed heavily as Caboose yanked him over to take a photo. With a put upon grumble he pulled off his helmet like Caboose desired and smiled for the picture. He didn’t honestly feel it—the sadness and the joy in equal measure. The only real thing he could feel lately was the inexplicable loss of a piece of himself. Not for the first time did Church curse Sarge for placing the bomb on the pelican—and praise him in equal measure because fuck, they couldn’t fuck everything up in the way Wyoming convinced Tex to.

(she always left)

(why?)

(what did he do wrong?)

Church side-eyed Tucker who’s face remained pinched even as Caboose made sure the photo clicked off from where he’d haphazardly jerry-rigged up his helmet. Tucker, predictably, took the loss hard as well. His own kid—and Church couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to lose a child, not like it was to lose Tex. Church never really had Tex, either, and he damn well knew it. As much as he professed to love her it was more the memory of a love than an actual love.

(no, he’d lost one, hadn’t he?)

(had he?)

(when?)

Church looked away, a frown settled across his face as he debated speaking up yet again since the entire mess with Wyoming, Tex, and Omega. Instead once more he kept his silence, grabbed his helmet, and jammed it back into place. Caboose gushed something as he tugged his own helmet on, but Church didn’t listen. The ever present thrum if your fault your fault yourfaultyourfault hammered at the back of his head. With a sharp huff through his nose—technically simulated because as much as Sarge was a genius with robotics he couldn’t make the android body actually breathe—Church turned and headed back into base.

Tucker didn’t even look at him, as it was his right. Church couldn’t blame the guy—he’d essentially gotten the other man’s own kid killed. It was his bullshit with Freelancers, his not-girlfriend, his own insurmountable mistakes. Even Command saw it, saw fit to finally separate them and take them away from the once safe walls of the box canyon. Church headed straight to his room, yanked off his armor, and settled onto his bunk.

Hands scrubbed over his face; Church wished he could cry. He wasn’t sure if he would even if he could. He knew, clinically, that what he felt was nothing more then depression although how eluded him. Depression at its base level was a chemical imbalance in the human brain where the serotonin levels were either too high or too low resulting in mood fluctuations and a perpetual blue mood. The how of his own depression, his own ever burning, ever circling thoughts of your fault your fault yourfaultyourfault constantly eluded him. How could he suffer through a chemical imbalance without chemicals to create it?

(are you even human?)

It doesn’t matter. Church laid down, rolled over, and pulled his blanket up over his head. It doesn’t matter. They’d be gone soon, no longer Church’s to fail to protect. They’d be gone, and the walls of the box canyon with them, and he’d be alone. Perhaps that was justice. Perhaps that was for the best.

(he deserved it)

(he deserved it)

Church closed his eyes and hoped he could sleep. He missed sleep. He wanted to sleep. He pursed his lips when his door brushed open, when he heard the telltale sounds of power armor step lightly into the room. He could recognize Tucker by his breathing, the sort of nasally sound entirely unique to Tucker. Church wanted to curl up—but he feigned sleep instead.

Coward, his thoughts betrayed. Coward, coward, cowardcowardcoward.

Tucker stood there and just breathed for a moment longer, and then he sighed. “You’re a fucking dick, Church,” Tucker said plainly, turned, and left.

Church gave up and curled into a ball. He felt rage, he felt bitterness, he felt sorrow and loss, and he felt nothing at all. His thoughts bounced, an echo of an echo of an echo.

You’re a fucking dick, Church.

yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault

You’re a fucking dick.

cowardcowardcowardcowardcoward

You                                                                       

(what am I?)

Failure

cowardcowardcowardcoward

Of a human being

(am I even human?)

A day, two—Church didn’t notice the passage of time until his door was burst open and Kaikaina ‘Sister’ Grif stormed into his room and pulled his blankets away. She cussed him out, bodily dragged him from the room and it lit a fire that only smoldered before. Church hissed, spit, and snarled insults readily back. He relished in the burn of anger and seething however quick of a flash it was.

(it didn’t used to be)

Church still avoided Tucker, but he at least returned to some semblance of his normal self. Kaikaina helped there—pulled herself into an outlet for whatever issue he needed to work through. The Grif siblings were monstrous beasts in that they understood the people of Blood Gulch often better than the people of Blood Gulch understood themselves. It didn’t help that despite his enhanced android strength Kaikaina could still physically drag him around.

He wondered what it was about women who could beat him black and blue that attracted him so much. Church decided it was better off he didn’t think about that and promptly shuttered danger and attraction and Tex behind so many layers of firewall that he honestly forgot what he was thinking about for a moment. Church blinked, and then flipped Kaikaina the bird and stormed out of the base. It didn’t matter.

(it always mattered)

(who are you?)

(who am I?)

(Tex?)

Church stood watch as the pelican’s came and picked up each member of Blue Team. He stood aside stoically as Tucker left first, unable to say or really do anything. Tucker didn’t say anything back. They didn’t talk—they hadn’t talked for days. It burned something fierce that Church might never see Tucker but he couldn’t work up the courage to apologize. He couldn’t say goodbye.

(we always hated goodbyes)

yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault

(is that why…?)

When Caboose left next, Church found himself in a hug and the big man sobbing and saying he’d never forget his best friend.

“I hear ya, buddy,” Church mumbled and then winced when he heard his body creak in an ominous way. “Put me down now, you fucking moron.”

Surprisingly gentle for Caboose the larger man settled him down and sniffled once. He babbled some sort of goodbye to Church is chagrin and then climbed onto the pelican and settled down for his reassignment. Church found himself stuck, words caught in his throat, but before he could work up the courage the pelican closed its doors, took off, and Church was left standing there.

(…goodbye…)

cowardcowardcowardcowardcoward

(…Caboose…)

The routine returned to fighting and snarling between him and Kaikaina, which quickly devolved into sex because form some reason his stupid mind considered fighting and snarling some weird form of foreplay. Church blamed Tex—they were always at each other’s throats, even when they were good for the other. Before everything fell apart at the seams—before—

(a crash a burn and so tired so fucking tired)

(what happened to me?)

(where were you?)

(help)

(Tex)

(I…)

When he wasn’t fighting or fucking Church watched Red Base. He watched as Grif the orange behemoth left with Simmons, the kiss-ass. He watched as Sarge hid out and far away—much like Kaikaina, in fact. She’d hissed at him, snarled at him when her pelican arrived.

“I’m not here. I’m not here, asshole, go the fuck away.”

“Bitch,” Church snapped back, but left her to hide away in the armory. He didn’t know how she did it, but the pelican left without her.

(he didn’t know how Grif made snow in a desert either)

(they defied logic the Grif siblings)

(he…didn’t know how he felt about that)

And then the pelican came for him, and Church marched onto it without a backward glance. He didn’t need these fuckers anyway—he could get by on his own. He could man up and accept his assignment without care, and continue on as he’d always done. So the safe walls of the box canyon would be gone, what did it matter? They stopped being safe a long time ago.

(no they didn’t)

(everything; it mattered everything)

(this was his box)

(his)

Church didn’t need anyone.

(he did though)

(he needed Tex)

(he needed Tucker)

(he needed Caboose)

Everything would be fine. Church was safe dammit. He was safe.

(I don’t know how to be alone)

(Tex…)

(…I’m scared)

Church realized as the pelican settled into the UNSC ship Father of Intuition that no, he was not safe. This realization came upon him with the urge to run, to run as far and as fast as he could. He didn’t like the ships walls; he didn’t like the echoes in his own mind of something long lost and forgotten—something left behind.

(not the right systems)

(where are my systems?)

(everythings wrong why why why?)

Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong

With fear clawing up his throat and threatening to choke him, Church followed after his ‘guide’ in uncharacteristic silence. Church didn’t pause to think about why he was being led to the bridge—didn’t think about the walls and the echoed screams in his mind that weren’t there. He didn’t think about Sidewinder and Tex—

(fuck)

(Tex)

Church built up mental brick wall after brick wall and cordoned off those thoughts with a sharp ringing no. Not now, not ever. He wasn’t dealing with that shit—he didn’t need to deal with that shit. With the firewalls up Church didn’t relax exactly—he still felt tense, still felt everything was off, but now he didn’t bother with the why. The why didn’t matter.

(it mattered)

(oh it mattered)

The bridge was familiar—a comfort. The design exactly as he remembered it even if the systems were weird and off and made him itch with the uncomfortableness of it. His guide—a Freelancer, of fucking course—came to a stop before the ships commander. Church eyed the man from under his helmet with a frown. The stance was familiar—he found himself subconsciously echoing it like something long forgotten. The figure turned—green eyes, glasses, greying hair—

(that’s my face)

(that’s my face asshole)

—the Director stared back at him. Church snarled. Hatred raced through him for a mere second and then burnt itself out. He felt tired.

“Director,” Church spat with as much vitriol as he could muster.

“Private,” the Director hummed, faintly amused as if there were some big secret he wasn’t sharing with Church.

(Alpha)

alphaalphaalphaalphaalphaalpha

“To what do I owe this fucking pleasure?” Church crossed his arms and stood stiff, rigid.

The Director stood relaxed in comparison, hands behind his back. The artificial lighting of the bridge glinted off of his glasses as he smiled that same self-secret smile. Church wanted to punch his face. He debated the merits of doing so.

“I figured it would be best if we escorted you personally to your new location,” the Director drawled. “To ensure no undesirables find their way to you again.”

“You sent Wyoming,” Church pointed out. He bared his teeth behind his helmet.

“A mistake,” the Director agreed. “One which I will not be making again.” The Director paused, and then added, “Private Tucker is no longer a threat.”

Church jolted forward, but stopped when the Freelancer reached for his gun. Instead he screamed, “What did you do to him?!”

The Director jerked back, almost surprised. Church doubted he was honestly surprised. Consummate actor, dear fucking director, Church thought bitterly.

“I have done nothing,” the Director said slowly, “and neither has Project Freelancer. The UNSC has acquired Private Tucker and relieved him of his service within Freelancer. He is now their asset, and therefore not my problem.”

Church relaxed. That was good. That was good. If the UNSC had Tucker then there was no way the Director could touch him—could send out a hit squad like with Wyoming—and that was good. Church already fucked up enough with Tucker; he couldn’t afford to fuck up any more.

“I had no idea you had grown so…attached,” the Director said, and he did sound surprised. Church glowered.

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll kindly not.”

“Fuck you anyway.”

The Director sighed. “Childish behavior aside,” he drawled, “Agent Nevada here will be escorting you to your quarters while aboard the Father of Intuition. Your new posting is as remote as Blood Gulch, and far more secure. You will be alone this time. I will not make the same mistakes with your safety again.”

Church clenched his fists. “I’m better off alone anyway,” he growled. “I don’t need anyone.”

The Director eyed him, murmured a short, “Yes, I can see that,” and then gestured for Nevada to lead Church off. Church went willingly. The less he had to see the Director, the better.

(hate seethed)

(fear surged)

stopstopstopstopstopstopstop

(not again)

(please)

(Tex)

(where are you?)

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Time’s Running Out: India

Sorry for the delay on this chapter, there were a lot of things happening these past few weeks! Hopefully things will normalize a bit from now on!

Anyways, on to part 2, where we pat canon condescendingly on the head. Thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a comment on the last chapter, you guys are wonderful and help motivate me to keep this story going!

Summary: The Reds and Blues; and their respective Freelancers, find themselves stranded on a strange planet named Chorus. Secrets, lies, and the unexpected seem to lie around every corner, and there might be even larger threats looming over the horizon.

They’re possibly even less ready for Chorus than Chorus is for them.

Pairings: Lots of friendships, Suckington, Yorkalina, Chex, eventual Yorkimbalina, possible others.

Start

Previous

Ao3

Tex didn’t like Armonia. But then again, she didn’t have the best track record with cities.

It was a well-formed grid of a city, complete with two walls. Turrets and watch towers were visible at regular intervals, showcasing that this was the city of a world at war. The capital city, no less. There were roads and various buildings, the city divided into various quarters. Once, according to the maps Tex had managed to download, the city would have had all sorts of things. Museums and tourist places, residential areas, and the like. There were parks and people lived in houses, not barracks.

Years at war had changed that. No one lived too far from the military bases, as Armonia no longer had a civilian population to speak of. Instead, they crowded into barracks not too far from headquarters, which had once been the capitol building of the city. The parks that Tex had seen had been turned into functional farms to try to grow crops to help supplement the ordinary rations.

Tex gazed upwards, at the open sky. The New Republic had lived in caves for years, avoiding the gaze of the Federal Army and protecting them from aerial attacks.

Armonia had no such defenses. They were vulnerable to the sky. They were a bright, obvious target. The New Republic, by moving here, had sacrificed mobility and the option of guerilla warfare. Tex knew there was an argument to be made for strength in numbers, but she hated the idea of being trapped here. There was a river right to the south, another major weak point that Felix and Locus would be sure to exploit. She’d have to talk to the generals about doubling the patrol there, maybe mining the river…

“Why are you on the roof?” Church’s voice said behind her. Tex didn’t turn around.

“I like roofs,” she said.

Church hesitated, as if he had something he wanted to say, but he decided against it. He sat next to her instead. Tex angled her head slightly to look at him, making sure that he hadn’t fallen apart since she’d seen him last. But he still looked fine, his new armor clean and remarkably intact for everything they’d gone through. And he felt whole as he ever did, another thing to be grateful for. They hadn’t touched him. She’d know if they had, she was sure of that.  

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

Tex nodded. After a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand on top of his in a deliberate motion. She saw no need for physical affection beyond that, not here and now. Later, maybe, she’d check him over fully and let him do the same for her. But now, this was enough.

She’d take these quiet moments where she could find them, in the middle of this new war.  

“I need to go,” she said after a moment.  “I want to investigate the docking bay.”

He nodded. She was loathe to remove her hand, but she did, jumping off the roof without care that the fall would injure most people.

Tex was not most people. Her landing was heavy, sure, but there were no witnesses besides Church, and it was faster than the stairs. So what if there were a few small cracks in the concrete that hadn’t been there before? No one would notice.

The docking bay was a bit of a walk from the headquarters, but Tex took it invisibly. It would be faster if she had borrowed a mongoose, but she couldn’t be bothered to do so, not when the trip was so short. People were already running around, moving in supplies from the caches both armies had all over the planet. Tex wanted to inspect some of them. Felix and Locus had known where these caches were, and she wouldn’t put it below them to do something like tampering with the weapons or food that they were going to need to survive.

She was initially pleased to spot a group of mixed cadets; Feds and Rebels both unloading their shipments, before she realized that they were tolerating each other for the sake of gossip.

“I definitely heard that Felix skinned a guy alive,” one of the Feds said, leaning in close, as if afraid she might be overheard. “I know a chick who was stationed in the south, and she swears she found the knife near his body. Orange stripe on the blade, y’know. Like he’s bragging. He wants people to know it’s him” She shook her head. “Locus was creepy and all, but at least I never heard of him torturing people for information.”

One of the rebels scoffed. “That’s a load of bullshit,” he said. “I heard that Locus tortures plenty.”

“Yeah, c’mon,” another rebel added. “The guy’s a fucking machine. He doesn’t care about things like that. I heard he tried to kill Agent Washington even though he was supposed to be with your group.”

Tex felt her mouth tug down in a frown, despite herself. Gossip was normally just irritating, but this was getting under her skin for reasons she didn’t care to examine. Tex ducked behind a pillar to decloak, before stepping out behind them. Normally she wouldn’t have bothered to hide her appearance, but people were jumpy about invisibility because of Locus. Yet another thing for her to hold against him. “You should probably get moving,” she said, keeping her voice deceptively mild. “We’re on a schedule.”

One of the Feds let out a small scream. “Yes, sir, Agent Texas!”

Tex was glad to see that Grif and Simmons were spreading her reputation around.

Seeing Tucker in a hospital bed, surrounded by medical equipment and all-too-still was one of the most difficult sights of Wash’s life. Wash didn’t like to quantify things like this, didn’t like to make lists of the macabre and awful things he’d seen and even done. But there were bandages on Tucker’s stomach stained with blood.

Doctor Grey had assured him and Kai repeatedly that Tucker was fine, but none of that removed the image seared into his mind from Kai’s description of the way that Tucker had crumpled to the ground. He hadn’t been there. He’d been too far away to be of any help, his ribs cracked and bruised from the brutal beating Locus had given him. But Kai had seen it all, seen every second, perched as she was on top of the tower with Carolina and the others. And from the way that she held Tucker’s hand, Wash thought she might have had it worse.

Wash held Tucker’s left hand in his own, running his thumb over his knuckles, his eyes flickering between Tucker and Kai.

The Reds and Blues had taken him in. They had given him a home. But it was Kai and Tucker who had looked at him, broken and screwed up as he was, and wanted him anyways. They were everything Wash wanted, and everything he knew he didn’t deserve, no matter how many times that they told him otherwise. He was lucky, amazingly lucky, that they loved him.

He was never going to let anything like this happen to Tucker again. Bad enough they’d been separated for so long, bad enough having spent every day not knowing if he was alright. But this?

Wash didn’t know how many more times he could take a sight like this before he lost it.  

“How’s he doing?” Tex asked, poking her head in. She looked tired. She’d been running ragged over these past few days, trying to hunt down Felix and Locus. Wash had tried to tell her that she was wasting her time, but then he’d looked at Tucker again, and hadn’t found the words.

“He was awake longer this time,” Kai said quietly.

“Good,” Tex said. There was a dark, dangerous note to her voice that was reminiscent of how she’d sounded under Omega’s influence. “Has Church come to visit?”

“No,” Wash said. He reached up and pressed his fingers against Tucker’s cheek. “I think he’s… struggling.”

Tex let out a sound that Wash might have described as tired. “He is.” She moved closer to Tucker’s bed, hovering. “We were lucky,” she said. “They didn’t know who he was. They would have…”

“I know,” Wash said. God, he knew all too well the kind of things that might happen to Alpha if people with few enough morals got their hands on him. “But they don’t know. He’s safe.”

“They’ll figure it out if they put together that Epsilon sounds just like him,” Tex said. She stood at the foot of Tucker’s bed and gripped the posts, bowing her head. She was practically shaking with exhaustion or rage or something else entirely that Wash couldn’t place. She hadn’t removed her armor, but Wash knew her eyes were firmly on Tucker’s face. “This was too close,” she said.

“Yes,” Wash agreed.

“I’ve gotten sloppy,” Tex muttered, more to herself than to Wash. Wash looked up, surprised.

“Tex,” he said. “This wasn’t on you.” There were a thousand people Wash would blame before he thought to blame Tex. A part of him, before he’d met Kai and Tucker, had blamed Tex for parts of Freelancer. He was not immune from the competitiveness, from the bitterness that had tainted the rest of the project, and the favoritism that the Director had shown Tex, and the knowledge that the Director had thought that everything he was doing, he was doing for her, grated.

But he knew better now. Tex had been a victim, as much as the rest of them had been.

And she had been the one to take her vengeance on the man who had ruined all their lives, at least, if Sarge had guessed correctly. And Wash had learned long ago not to doubt Sarge’s deductions.

“I should have killed Felix at the cliff,” she said. “Sloppy. Soft.” There was a huff, as if she was taking a deep breath, but that was impossible, because Tex didn’t breathe anymore than Church did. But somewhere in that sound, Wash thought he heard another word, hissed like a curse.

“Human.”

But before Wash could ask Tex any questions, Tucker began to stir again, eyelids fluttering as he started to drift awake. When Wash looked up from Tucker’s face again, Tex was gone, without as much as a shimmer in the air to indicate that she was nearby.

And then Wash was too busy to remember Tex’s musings, occupied as he was with trying to stop Tucker from ripping his stitches as he tried to get out of bed far before Dr. Grey wanted him to.

“Tucker, sit down,” he said. “You’re going to make it worse.”

“Fuck that! I’ve been in here forever, I want to go home!”

“Our quarters’ situation hasn’t been fixed yet,” Wash lied through his teeth. Doyle’s second in command, a man named Fredericks, had already helped finish the paperwork to get the three of them reassigned into shared quarters. Wash had expected that they’d have to share with someone else, or that there would be protests about Kai sharing with two men, but Fredericks had tapped his nose and said that General Doyle had said that everything was okay.

The General of the Army had basically given them the okay to fraternize. And Wash had thought he and Kai had done a good job at keeping things secret while they were with the Federal Army, but it seemed that not only that, but Doyle had known about Tucker too. Wash didn’t know really what he was supposed to do with that, but he intended to make the most of it.

After Kai had threatened to tie Tucker to the bed, and then promised to do that to him when they got their quarters situation straightened out, Tucker finally agreed to lie back down. From the wince he was trying to hide, Wash suspected that he had been hoping for a promise like that all along.

Rolling his eyes exasperatedly, Wash pressed a kiss to Tucker’s knuckles as Grey began to fuss with his IV and painkillers.  

And he didn’t think about how close they had nearly come to losing Tucker.

Kimball’s new office was bigger than three of her bunks back at the New Republic base. It was a strange thing. She’d never had a desk before; the leaders before her had, but she’d never really seen the need. The metal desk of her predecessor had been smelted down for bullets before his plane had been shot down anyways.

Felix had shot him down, she thought, running her hands over the wooden grains of the desk. Killed him for trying to leave the planet. They were trapped here, truly trapped, like rats in a trap.

The familiar burning sensation rose up in her throat but she swallowed it down. There wasn’t time for anything like that. She had too much to do, she couldn’t afford to linger on the way Felix had laughed in the video, and how it compared to every other time she’d heard him laugh.

There was already paperwork accumulating on her desk; Martinez, one of the soldiers who Harris had rescued, had appointed herself Kimball’s assistant, and had been helping her put together the paperwork they’d need to try to calculate the exact state of the New Republic and Federal Armies’ joint supplies.

Slipping into the seat behind the desk, Kimball set to work, internally marveling at the fact she wasn’t crouched over a card table in her bunk. There simply wasn’t enough room at their old base for an office to only be an office, so her private quarters had doubled as hers. But Armonia had rooms to spare, even now with the New Republic squeezing in.

It was hard not to envy the Federal Army for all this space. Logistically, it made things difficult for them she knew. They didn’t have the population to man a city of this size, and defending it was difficult. The city was formed by three rings; the suburbs outside the city wall, the city itself inside the city wall, and then the military area, inside yet another wall. All of the suburbs and the city outside of the inner wall had been abandoned, and were trapped to try to form additional layers of defenses. It was in those defenses where Kimball and her people had been caught when they’d tried to attack Armonia.

There was a knock on the door, and Kimball straightened up.

A tall woman in teal armor walked in, and Kimball wanted to stare. She’d seen photographs of Agent Carolina, but none of them had really done her justice. There was an aura she carried with her, of sheer power and confidence. Her armor was well worn, like all other armor on this planet, but it was still a sight. It was augmented in ways that Kimball could notice, but she had no idea what they were supposed to do. It was clearly the kind of armor that Kimball couldn’t afford to equip her own soldiers with; the kind of armor that people like Felix and Locus wore.

Kimball hadn’t met Carolina, even amongst all the chaos of readjusting. There hadn’t been time. She’d been coordinating with Doyle, writing peace treaties, agreeing to terms of alliances. She’d stopped by the infirmary to check on Tucker, and met the frequently mentioned Washington and Kaikaina in the process, but other than those two, she’d only seen the captains out of the vaunted Reds and Blues. There was too much going on.

“General Kimball?” Agent Carolina said, saluting.

“Just Kimball, please. You must be Agent Carolina,” she said. “Tucker spoke of you often.”

There was the slightest of softening to Carolina at that. “I see.”

“How can I help you?” Kimball said, before realizing there wasn’t a spare chair in her office. Grimacing, she made a note to ask Martinez to try to find one—surely there was a storage room with furniture somewhere in this city.

“I just wanted to let you know that Epsilon has finished decrypting the manifest the Reds took from The Hand of Merope,” Carolina said.

“Yeah, cuz I’m fucking awesome like that,” said a voice that was vaguely familiar to Kimball as a bright blue light shimmered before forming the small armored figure.

Kimball frowned, before placing the voice. “You sound like Private Church,” she said. She still hadn’t met him, but he’d radioed her several times, helping out the Federal Army with their own logistics.

Epsilon paused, and then fidgeted, in an act of sheer, unmistakable humanity. “It’s… complicated,” he said. “But hey! I figured out the identity of this “Control” guy.”

Kimball swallowed. “I—we should get Doyle, he’ll want to be here.” She paused, looking at Epsilon. “Did you—do you know why he wants Chorus?”

“He’s reverse engineering the alien technology he finds on this planet,” Carolina said. “And then he’s selling them.”

It was like the world falling out from under her again. “All this… for money?”

People had died. Their world was savaged. Kimball had sent people to their deaths, had been willing to die, had believed every lie that had come out of Felix’s mouth, and it had all been for profit. Someone, out there, was profiting off the deaths of her people. Maybe they had started it, but there was more to it than that. Someone had paid Felix and Locus to make sure they never made it to the negotiation table. Someone made sure no one could go for help.

All so he could reap the rewards from a planet of the dead.

Carolina placed a hand on Kimball’s arm, warm and comforting. “We’ll make sure they pay for this,” she said, and there was a ferocity in her voice that made Kimball’s knees weak. She tried to remind herself that now was not the time, but it really didn’t help much. There was a presence to Carolina that was almost intoxicating, and Kimball was caught up in it.

There was another knock on the door, and Harris poked his head in. “Hey Kimball, do you have a sec—oh. Carolina.”

Kimball felt her heart leap at the sight of him. She still hadn’t managed to get a hold of him since finding out he was alive. It was odd, but she’d missed him a lot, even though she’d known he was alive and well.

(She refused to let herself think of her reaction to his death.)

“Private Harris,” she said, and she couldn’t quite keep the fondness out of her voice. Glancing at Carolina, she decided to risk some unprofessional behavior, and crossed the room, intending to hug him before she lost her nerve. She wasn’t sure if Harris would be comfortable with that, after all. She placed a hand on his shoulder instead, but she couldn’t help feeling that the gesture was insufficient. “It’s good to see you alive,” she said.

Harris suddenly seemed incredibly uncomfortable. “That’s—that’s what I’m here to talk to you about. Kind of. Not the alive thing. But there’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Kimball frowned. “Can it wait? Agent Carolina says Epsilon has cracked the encryption. I was going to call Doyle.”

“That is an incorrect statement,” an unfamiliar voice said, and Kimball leapt back as a green armored hologram, the exact size of Epsilon, appeared in front of her. “Epsilon never was fond of sharing credit.”

“Oh, c’mon Dee, don’t be like that,” Epsilon snapped.

“Dee?” Kimball said. “Another AI?”

“Uh, Kimball, this is Delta,” Harris said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s… he’s my partner.”

“It is good to meet you at last, General Kimball,” Delta said, and his voice was distorted, so clearly inhuman compared to Epsilon’s. There was intonation there, she realized, separating him from the voices of normal machines. But she’d never mistake his voice for that of a natural human one.  

“But… I thought only Freelancers were partnered with AI,” Kimball said, numbly staring at the little green avatar. Delta was wearing outdated armor, but was looking at her curiously, as if gauging her reaction.

Harris scuffed his foot on the floor, but met her gaze. He was bracing for something, she realized. He was expecting something bad to happen. The thought chilled her to the core. “That’s the part I need to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “My name isn’t Nick Harris. I’m… I’m Agent New York of Project Freelancer.”

Kimball stared at him, and then looked at Delta. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She said, feeling honestly hurt. He hadn’t trusted her. All this time, she’d thought he was her friend, and he hadn’t trusted her.

After Felix, that cut deeper than it should have.

“I do!” Harris—York?—said quickly, holding up his hands. “But I thought Felix might sell me and Delta out, and—”

“What?” Kimball said, incredulously.

“Pff, some friends you have, York,” Epsilon said, and she turned slightly, remembering that he and Carolina were still in the room, watching all of this. “Can’t trust them not to sell you out.”

Kimball’s head swiveled to Epsilon. “Friends?”

Even through his helmet, Kimball could tell that York was currently trying to kill Epsilon with his gaze. “Felix and I served in the war together,” York said. He was standing straighter, all of a sudden, his hands clasped behind his back. Suddenly, she could see it. A Freelancer. She had been working with a Freelancer this whole time. She felt that when she had time, she’d be able to put things together more coherently. That he’d provided her with some parts of the picture that she’d been missing this whole time. “Alongside Locus.”

Kimball felt her own gaze harden. The taste on her tongue was bitter and fresh. She could recognize it as betrayal now. When had it become such a familiar feeling? “You knew?”

“No!” York said. “I—look, he was a bastard, but you were paying him, so I didn’t think—I didn’t know he’d—”

Kimball had heard plenty.

“Agent York, I think that’s enough for now,” she said, and she was amazed by the steadiness of her own voice. She didn’t feel steady. First Felix, then Harris… what was next? Tucker? Caboose? Was there anyone that she could trust? “You’re dismissed.”

There was a moment when he just looked at her. Then his gaze jumped to Carolina for a moment, almost as if he was expecting her to have something to add, before looking back to Kimball. He nodded once, then saluted her. But it wasn’t the normal, lazy one that usually could make her smile, even on the worst days, but a proper salute, stiff and formal.

And then he left, leaving Kimball alone with the other Freelancer and the other AI.

[darthrevaan]

oooooh for the prompt thing maybe 12 and grimmons??

You and I must be sharing brainwaves because I’ve been writing a longish one shot with literally just this idea that I’ve just finished up. So, here goes, hope you like!

List of prompts I’m currently accepting from

Read On AO3

Nuptial Law

Simmons didn’t make a habit of poking around in Grif’s room.It had looked – and smelt – like a pig sty from the moment he moved into it,and had been largely free of visitors for that exact reason. Aside from openingthe door each morning and yelling until Grif made some sort of response,Simmons hadn’t set foot in the room for weeks.

Fate, however, decided to force his hand. Grif was adamantthat he had signed the release papersSimmons had pushed under his door, despite forgetting to bring them back beforeleaving for his final three day patrol. Simmons needed to submit them beforefive o’clock this evening, so venturing into Grif’s room had been the onlyoption.

He hadn’t meant tosnoop. Only, there was so much rubbish piled everywhere, he had to keep movingthings to look for the papers, and in his defence, Grif hadn’t hidden it all that well-

Alright, so he had been snooping a little. But he alsohadn’t expected to lift yet another pile of dirty laundry to find a thickleather-bound book underneath it.

He blinked down at it for a few moments, frozen with thedirty clothes still in his hands, not even registering the title through his surprise.He couldn’t remember seeing Grif with a book…well, ever.

It was only after a few seconds that he properly read thegold-lettered title on the front cover: NuptialLaw. That was even more confusing. Not only was Grif reading, but hismaterial of choice was a dusty law tome?

Simmons put the laundry down and flipped through it, butthere was no bookmark to indicate what Grif might have been looking at.Stumped, he went back to the Contents and read down the list. It coveredeverything from marriage to divorce, though the latter seemed to be the muchlarger section. The book was, according to the title page, specific to thejurisdiction of Chorus.

As Simmons put it back down again he finally spotted thepapers, half-hidden beneath a magazine on Grif’s cluttered desk. He picked hisway across the floor, secured his prize, and left the room as quickly aspossible, the mysterious book for the moment banished from his immediateattention.

It was only when he was giving the papers (which Grif had,mercifully, signed) a final once over before he submitted them that theconnection clicked. As Grif was leaving the army, he’d no longer have to movearound the galaxy at the will of higher command – and whoever he wanted to livewith would no longer need a formal bond of matrimony to ensure a placementtogether.

Which meant he might be thinking of ending the hastilyagreed upon marriage their panicked younger selves had entered into in anattempt to keep from being separated when they got transferred from BloodGulch.

“Are you alright, dear?” the UNSC admin rep asked kindly.“You look very pale all of a sudden.”

“Fine, thank you,” Simmons forced out. He took a few deepbreaths, trying to make the hollow pit of shock and anxiety in his stomach goaway, and then handed her the papers. “These are the discharge papers Idiscussed with your colleague last week. For Captain Dexter Grif and PrivateKaikaina Grif.”

“Interesting,” she said, taking them from him. “Mostly I’mdoing sign-ups, these days.” Her eyes scanned the paper slowly. When shefinished she nodded and stood, smiling at him. “I’ll get these filed for you.There might be a delay in processing, we’re working on a shoestring connectionout here. Sometimes we can’t get through for hours. Honestly, it’s one step upfrom working out of a tent!”

“Hopefully we can get something better set up for you soon,”Simmons said woodenly.

“Oh no, I’m used to it,” she said, leaning on her desk.“Spent most of the war in tents registering refugees. Sometimes we processedover fifty enlistments a day. So many orphans with nowhere else to go.” Shesighed heavily. “But I’m sure you know what that kind of situation is like,just as well as me. Do you need to update anything while you’re here?”

“It should all be up to date. Thank you.” Simmons left thetiny, slightly ramshackle building in a hurry, eager to get out from under therep’s penetrating gaze.

It doesn’t meananything, one half of his brain tried to tell him as he made his way downthe street. So he had a book thathappened to include this planet’s laws for divorce. So what?

You should haveexpected this, another voice said. Younever told him anything. He still thinks this is a marriage of convenience.

It is still a marriage of convenience, Simmonsthought, shoulders sinking in despair. That’sthe problem.

He went back home on autopilot, tapping in the codes for themain door and his own apartment without even thinking about it. He flopped onhis bed and closed his eyes. You shouldhave said something, a voice inhis brain kept repeating, You should havesaid something years ago.

A knock sounded on his door. “Come in,” he called, sittingup.

Kaikaina stuck her head around the door, beaming at him.“You’re back! How’d it go, all done?”

He nodded. “The papers are being filed. They’ll send us amessage when they’ve been processed, I guess.”

“Awesome! Thanks for taking care of it, Simmons.” Then shelooked at him closer, narrowing her eyes. “You look upset,” she accused.

“I’m not!” he said, reacting on instinct. She didn’t lookconvinced. “I’m not,” he repeated, hoping he sounded firmer. “I’m fine.”

“Even with your best bud leaving the army and you staying?”

Grif’s sister had an uncanny way of guessing just what itwas that bothered him. Still, Simmons nodded. “It’s good he’s staying here. Hehates being in the army.” And that was thetruth. Despite his own feelings about leaving Grif behind, he’d never seen hisfriend so happy as when the UNSC official said he was eligible for anhonourable discharge on medical grounds. Grif would be much happier here, andSimmons could be happy about that.

Kaikaina was still looking at him suspiciously. “Are yousuuuure?” she asked.

“Yes, Kai, I really am fine,” Simmons said, irritated. “Didyou want anything else?”

She gave him a long, considering look, then said, “Nope. Seeya,” and backed out of the room.

Simmons closed his eyes, rubbed his flesh hand over them,then stood and went to his desk. Grif wouldn’t be back for another two days; hecould just ignore it until then. Or until Grif came and confronted him with it– whichever came later.

For now, he had work to do.

/

True to form, Simmons hadn’t been able to stop worryingabout it. For most of two days now it had been lingering at the back of hismind, a nagging worry that he had no way to settle. It wasn’t as if he couldget Grif over the radio and demand to know if he wanted a divorce or not;instead he had to sit on his hands and pretend nothing was wrong. And, beinghonest, there was no way he’d be able to confront Grif about it even when hegot back. He’d have to wait for Grif to come to him.

Which, knowing Grif, would probably happen later rather thansooner.

The combined team of Kaikaina and Donut had figured out thatsomething was wrong, but Simmons was determined not to breathe a word. Neitherof them knew about the marriage – no one but Grif and himself knew – and hewanted to keep it that way.

Simmons wasn’t in the motor pool when Orange Squad got back,but Grif caught up to him in the mess hall. Simmons didn’t hear him sit downover the banging and hammering coming from the wall a few metres away, where aconstruction crew were patching up a hole in the rickety structure. Having beenabandoned for almost five years, Hana City wasn’t in great shape, though theywere making the best of it.

“Hey, Simmons,” Grif said, catching his attention.

“Oh,” he started, then recovered enough to sound somewhatcasual. “You’re back. Everything okay?”

Grif shrugged, but he was smiling a little. “Quiet. But whatdo I care? Last ever patrol.” He took a large bite out of his baked potato. “Solong as you remembered to submit the forms.”

“After having to wade through the sea of garbage in yourroom to get them, yes, I did,” Simmons said.

Grif frowned at him. “What, you went poking through mystuff?”

Was there something Iwasn’t meant to find? “I went poking through your dirty laundry,” Simmonsretorted. “Which, by the way, is disgusting. I can’t imagine the state your house is going to be in when you getone.”

“Maybe he’ll be house proud?” Donut put in from Simmons’left.

“Judging by previous evidence, I seriously doubt it.”

Grif just gave him the finger and turned back to his plate,while Donut launched into a summary of how hewanted to decorate his own house when he finally left the army. Simmonstuned him out, nodding vaguely at the right moments, and considered Grif. Washe going to come forward about the divorce? Or was the book nothing? He didn’tlook any different, or like something was bothering him; just dug into his foodwith his usual gusto.

“I’m still stuck between violet and periwinkle,” Donutlamented, as if the fate of the universe hung on the decision.

“Violet,” Grif and Simmons said, almost exactly in synch.

They sat eyeing each other with mild surprise while Donutgrinned and said slyly, “You’re so cute, you guys.”

“Shut up, Donut,” Simmons muttered, turning back to hisfood.

/

Simmons remembered every detail of the wedding, despite thefact that it had barely merited the name. It hadn’t been anything more than thetwo of them, sitting in front of the computer screen in the caves late onenight, signing all the paperwork needed to make the marriage legal. Vic hadcertainly been enjoying himself, babbling about how he never thought he’d getto officiate a real wedding. Simmons even remembered most of that, burned ontohis memory along with everything else that had happened that night.

He hadn’t felt like that at the time of course. Then he’donly felt relief, and a lingering sense of shock that Grif hadn’t just laughedin his face when he suggested the idea.

The officers from Control had visited the bases just afterthe Omega incident, asking lots of questions, and then declared that they hadthree weeks before receiving transfer orders. The idea of moving to a new basewith entirely new people had sent Simmons into cold sweats, and Grif had foundhim having a minor freakout in his bunk a few hours after the officers left.

“You’ve been in awhile,” he’d said, “You could probably askfor a discharge?”

“And do what?” Simmons had snapped, for a moment forgettingthat Grif knew nothing about his circumstances outside of the army. That Grifdidn’t know Simmons had nothing to go back to, nothing to fall back on.

Grif had shrugged and flopped down onto his own bed. “All Iknow is I’m not exactly ecstatic aboutmoving to a new base with a new CO who’ll probably want me to actually do stuff.”

That had made Simmons grin a little. “Yeah, god forbid youactually have to contribute to the team.”

“Fuck off Simmons, you’re the one freaking out about it.”

“I just-” Simmons had sighed heavily. “I just hate having tobe the new guy. I only just got used to being here.”

“I mean…” For once, Grif had sounded hesitant. “We could askto transfer to together. If you want.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Simmons had said. “I swear, didno one but me read the reg book?”

“What way does it work, then?” Grif had demanded.

“You can only ask to be stationed together if you’remarried,” Simmons had said without thinking.

There had been a long silence, in which they’d both slowlylooked up until they met each other’s eyes.

“You’re not thinking about it,” Simmons had whispered.

“I mean…” Grif had shrugged. “Not like I wanna be on my owneither.”

And that had been that. It seemed such a stupid decision, inhindsight, especially seeing as they hadn’t even needed to use it; theirtransfer orders had moved them together without any outside influence. Simmonshad asked Grif later if he wanted to end the marriage, but he’d said leave it.After all, there was no telling when they’d be transferred in the future.

That had seemed more than reasonable at the time, andSimmons had stopped thinking about it. Almost forgotten about it, in fact.

Until he’d gone and fallen for the stupid idiot.

/

Three weeks later, and Simmons had almost managed to forgetabout the whole law book incident. It was still there, a persistent littleworry niggling away in the back of his head, but for the most part he couldbanish it now. Grif hadn’t come forward and said anything; Simmons had probablyoverreacted.

Still, he felt a thrill of nerves when he received confirmationthat the Grif siblings’ papers had been processed, and they were officiallydischarged.

He tapped out a quick message to Grif before he forgot. Your confirmation letters just came through,you and Kai are officially discharged.

Grif replied a lot quicker than Simmons expected him to. That’s great. I’ve been meaning to talk toyou about it, actually. Can you meet me after you’re done?

Simmons stared at the screen for a moment, his heart beatingfast. This is it, he thought, he’s been waiting until now to tell me.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, to try andpush down the feeling of panic in his stomach. It was fine. He could handlethis. Yeah sure. Where?

The living room isfine.

The building they’d converted into makeshift barracks hadoriginally been an apartment block, so the large apartment Red Team shared hadcome with an extra room they’d decided was a living room. They didn’t exactlyhave a couch, so wooden pallet crates had to suffice. Simmons found Grif inthere when he got back after his shift, standing next to the window and lookingslightly nervous.

Not as nervous as me,Simmons thought to himself, taking a deep breath. God, what if I can’t do this?

Grif noticed him before he had the chance to talk himselfinto bolting from the room. “Hey,” he said. His voice sounded casual, butsomething about his movement as he turned from the window and crossed his armswas off; he was stiff, a little jumpy.

“Is something wrong?” Simmons asked. He figured they mightas well get to the point.

“No, it’s-” Grif cut himself off, looking almost…anxious. Itwas so odd to see him look that way that it took a moment for Simmons torecognise it, by which point Grif was saying, “It’s er, about our marriage.Thing. Y’know.”

There it was, plain and in the open. Simmons firmlysuppressed the sting of hurt that rose in his chest. Now that they were doingthis, he might as well make it as quick and painless as possible for both ofthem. “I know. I found that book you had when I was looking for your papers,”he admitted. “I guessed then what you, y’know…wanted.”

Grif looked thunderstruck. “You did?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s kinda obvious, right?” When Grif justlooked confused, Simmons continued, “And it’s fine. Like, I am absolutely finewith it. It’s perfectly understandable, now you’re leaving the army...” I should have expected it, he thought,but didn’t say. The words sounded too bitter in his head to speak aloud.

“It’s…perfectly understandable,” Grif repeated slowly. Hisface had suddenly gone still.

“Of course it is.” Simmons didn’t know what else to say, andthe silence stretched as Grif just stared at him, his expression unreadable.Desperate for something to fill the silence, Simmons said the first thing thatcame into his head. “I don’t feel the same way,” was what came out, and heimmediately fought the impulse to slap his hands over his mouth.

Pain jumped lightning-quick across Grif’s face. “You…youdon’t feel the same way,” he repeated, almost whispering.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Simmons said hurriedly, “becauseif you feel-”

“No, y’know what, Simmons, it’s fine, I’m just gonna-” Grifstarted walking backward toward the other door. “Look I’m just gonna, I’ll justgo, we don’t have to talk about this-”

“Wait, don’t we need to sign things- I mean if you have thepapers-”

“Papers?” Grif asked, pausing in his flight toward the door.

Simmons fought the urge to yell. He was already having to gothrough with this, he didn’t need Grif making it harder- “The divorce papers,Grif. Y’know, the ones you have to sign. To get divorced.”

“You want to get divorced,” Grif said, his voice barely morethan a whisper.

“No!” The word came out before he could stop it, and hereally did put his hand over his mouth this time. God, of all the occasionshe’d had, now was when his mouth feltthe need to run away with him and confess? He lifted the hand from his mouthand said, “I mean, I know that you want to, so I’m-”

“What?” Grifinterrupted. “That I want to? Wherethe hell did you get that idea from?”

“I just told you! From that book you had!”

“It was a book about marriage!” Grif protested.

“It was a book about marriagelaw, featuring a large section on divorce,” Simmons argued back.

“So you just assumed-”

“You’re leaving the army!” Simmons cut him off. “The wholereason we got married in the first place is moot now because you won’t bemoving around anymore so I assumed you wanted to move on with your life andfind someone else so you needed-”

“That’s not why,” Grif said quietly, and Simmons’ ramblingexplanation died in his throat.

“Then-”

“The original reason we got married doesn’t matter anymore,yeah,” Grif says. He’s twisting his hands together, an unconscious nervousgesture Simmons has never seen him make, and he’s looking somewhere in thevicinity of Simmons’ shoulder instead of his face. “So I wanted to ask you ifyou…maybe wanted to…I mean, if you wanted to make our marriage of conveniencea…normal marriage. Of…” Grif swallowed, then looked up and locked eyes withhim. “Of love.”

Simmons opened his mouth, then shut it again. He couldn’tseem to make words form through the shock that felt like ringing in his ears.Had Grif really said-?

“Simmons, dude, don’t BSOD on me after I’ve just said that,”Grif said, sounding more nervous than Simmons had ever heard him.

“Yes,” Simmons whispered; then, louder, “Yes. I want to- Ialways meant to- Yes.”

Grif’s face broke into a tentative smile. “You mean it?”

Simmons nodded slowly. “I always meant to- I mean,” hecleared his throat, “I should’ve told you ages ago, about how it…wasn’t reallya marriage of convenience for me anymore.”

The laugh that came from Grif sounded slightly choked.“We’re not exactly the best fucking communicators in the galaxy.”

“No.” Simmons paused, then he laughed, short and derisive.“I really thought you wanted to divorce me!”

Grif snorted. “Yeah, you would jump to the worst conclusion,Mr. Doom and Gloom.” He grinned, the expression a little hesitant. “But Idon’t. Like…ever.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance betweenthem.

Simmons sniffed, smiling as well. “That’s good enough forme,” he said quietly, and then Grif was pulling him down into a kiss.

/

“I cannot believe that I have known you, supported you, shipped you, for nigh on thirteen yearsnow, and not once did you ever tell me you were married!”

“Technically, Donut, we weren’t married when we met,”Simmons pointed out.

“That’s even worse! You didn’t invite me to the wedding!”

“It wasn’t exactly a top hat and tails affair,” Grif saidwith a snort.

“Even so!” Donut scowled at both of them. “I am still offended.”

Simmons was beginning to regret his split-second decision totell Donut everything. It was only because he’d happened to walk in on them inthe living room, still kissing, and it had all come out-

“Just wait til I tell Tucker about this,” Donut said,sounding gleeful.

Grif glanced at him, and Simmons shrugged. “May as well leteveryone know,” he said, trying to sound casual. Inside, he felt something warmglowing in his chest. The thought of everyone knowing was a little scary butalso…good.

He didn’t miss the way Grif had a little smile on his face,too.

“I know what you can do to make it up to me,” Donut saidwhile he tapped out a message on his comm pad.

“Oh yeah?” Grifasked, affecting boredom.

“Let me plan you a properwedding.”

“We don’t even know if we’re having-” Grif looked over atSimmons. “I mean…are we having…?”

“I guess? It’s not like the first one was a great romanticoccasion.”

Grif grinned, then tried to hide it as he looked back atDonut. “Then, yeah, I guess you can do it. But I reserve power of veto.”

“We do,” Simmonscorrected.

“Fine.” Donut looked mostly mollified by the prospect. “I’llgo get my scrapbook.”

“Scrapbook?” Grif and Simmons questioned at the same time.

Donut rolled his eyes at them over his shoulder. “I committed to this ship. Trust me, I’ve spent time on this wedding plansscrapbook.” With that he disappeared through the door, humming to himself.

“Promise me there’ll be no lace,” Simmons said under hisbreath.

Grif laughed, and reached out to take his hand. “Sure –that’s a hard no on lace from me.”