Chapter Text
“I hate you,” Simmons declared and looked down at his hands. He closed them in frustration before repeating his thoughts again. “Did I mention that I hate you? ‘cause that is what I do. Hate you.”
Grif shrugged and the bag he was carrying began to slip off his shoulder again. They had not been allowed to bring much with them but they had never had many personal items in Blood Gulch anyway. An old photograph, some worn t-shirts and a pack of snacks or two had been easy to pack. “Sorry, didn’t hear you.”
“I don’t understand.” Simmons let out a groan and his hands flew to the sides of his helmets. “Why you?!”
His tone had a dark edge to it that annoyed Grif enough to feel offended. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”
“That you’re the most incompetent soldier I’ve ever met. They could have picked anyone else in the canyon and they would be a better Sergeant than you. Hell, they could have picked Caboose and-“
“Caboose’s a Blue,” Grif pointed out as they walked past yet another red banner. For a moment he almost thought that this would be Sarge’s ideal home – until he remembered how to old man had refused to leave Blood Gulch.
“I know,” Simmons replied with a snort. “And they’d still prefer him.”
“Now you’re just being mean.”
Simmons turned his head sharply to stare directly at his teammate. “Even you have to see that this is unfair. You’re the one who’s… And I’m… Look, there’s no logical reason to choose you. This place has to be filled with giant idiots…”
He trailed off as they rounded a corner and suddenly found themselves face to face with their new teammates.
The three Reds did not look particularly welcoming, slowly crossing their arms as the newcomers halted in front of them. But that could all be caused by Simmons’ comment which they had obviously heard.
Grif felt the cyborg next to him twitch in horror.
One of the red soldiers lifted his head in something that looked like approval and said with a formal voice, “Sergeant Grif!” His tone darkened when his visor turned towards the person next to him, “and Private Simmons, I suppose.”
Simmons let out a small whimper that only Grif heard and raised his hand in a weak welcoming gesture. He let it fall back down after a brief second.
“I’m Lieutenant Adamm.” The one in the front puffed out his chestplate and then shrugged towards the soldiers a few steps behind him. “That’s Kohl and Snell. We’re happy to welcome you to Rat’s Nest, sir.”
Their helmets tilted upwards, as If expecting Grif to say something. When even Simmons put his stare upon him, the orange soldier reached up to run his neck while saying, “Sure.”
“I’m afraid the official welcoming will first be tomorrow. But we have arranged a private tour to get you settled in.”
“You should show me the way to the kitchen then,” Grif suggested with a shrug. There was a joking tone in his voice that only Simmons seemed to detect.
The three red soldiers, only being differentiated by the small parts of yellow that were placed on either the arm, shoulder or leg plates, all shared a glance.
“That could be arranged,” the left one, Snell, said gingerly after some seconds.
“Certainly,” Adamm then declared with a short nod. “I’m sure our base will surpass your expectations, Sir. Especially if they have been that low.” His helmet tipped forward as he stared at Simmons with what only could be a dark glare.
Simmons definitely felt the passive aggressiveness and began to excuse himself, voice cracking slightly, “I didn’t mean to-”
“If you would follow us, Sergeant Grif,” Adamms cut him off briskly, finally turning his visor so he could gesture for Grif to head down the right hallway.
Simmons, sensing that he was not welcome, let out a defeated sigh. “I’ll just go… shoot myself,” he ended his sentence in a mutter.
“That way, Private,” Kohl snorted, tilting his head to the left, and then proceeded to almost brush shoulder with Simmons as he hurried in the other direction.
“Thanks,” Simmons said dryly, eyes narrowing behind the visor.
“You’ve been assigned to quarters 07B.” Simmons had to stare at the Lieutenant for three more seconds before he cared to explain, “It’s the end of the left hall.”
“Okay…”
“This way, Sergeant Grif.”
Simmons turned his head to see Grif being led away by Adamms. The orange soldier sent the cyborg a shrug before he began to walk away. As if frozen, Simmons remained where he was, even when Snell, as the last one to join the group, began to walk down the hallway and sneered when he walked past him, “Giant idiot.”
Inhaling deeply in defeat, Simmons let his chin rest against his chest-plate. He had suspected that Rat’s Nest would suck but this was giving him flash-backs of his first day in High School.
And those were memories he would rather not revisit.
Sarge was not here to tell him what to do and Grif had not really given any orders yet, so Simmons straightened out his back, tightened his grip on his shoulder bag, and began to walk down the hall in the opposite direction of where the others had gone.
The quarters were fairly easy to find, with the numbers guiding him the right way. The hallways were quiet with the exceptions of some faint echoes which Simmons guessed belonged to soldiers on patrol. The journey to Rat’s Nest had taken longer than expected and his HUD informed him that they were close to 10pm. Most of the day’s activities must have ended then.
When he found the right door, 07B, Simmons hesitated, arm half-heartily lifted to knock. Should he knock? Or was that a sign of awkwardness? It was going to be his room, after all.
On the other hand, things could barely get worse from here. At least he had not called his new bunkmates for giant idiots yet.
Simmons knocked just for formality’s sake, and then opened door before someone could answer. Not that it mattered – the room was empty.
It was smaller than the one he had shared with Grif back in Blood Gulch. A bunkbed on one side and then a dresser just across it. Simmons placed his bag on it, unsure of which bed that belonged to him.
Pulling out a drawer, he discovered that the left side of it was empty. He immediately began to unpack the clothes he had brought with him for then to fold it and place it inside the dresser. It kept his hands busy.
His bag was pretty much empty after that.
Just a single picture frame, showing the team back in Blood Gulch. Sarge in the front, cocking his shotgun. Donut with his arms around Lopez and Simmons. And to the left side of it was Grif, on his way to sneak out of the frame, and he would have succeeded had Simmons not grabbed his elbow just before the camera flashed.
Simmons debated whether to put it on top of the drawer but then decided to hide it in the inside the furniture between two of his night-shirts.
Right now he could not dare to intrude on his missing bunkmate’s personal space.
“One week. Tops,” Simmons declared sternly. He was now in Grif’s new room, which was notably bigger than the Privates’. When Simmons’ bunkmate had not appeared ten minutes after his arrival, even after Simmons had taken off his armor to wear something more comfortable, the silence had crept up on him until he had ventured out in the hallways again in the search for the Sergeant’s quarters.
Grif has returned about five minutes after Simmons had begun to wait outside the door. Hiding behind the corner until he was sure that Adamm, Snell and Kohl had left, Simmons had eventually knocked on the door only to be dragged inside by Grif who seemed happy for the company.
He had eagerly explained about the place’s motorpool. There had been a tone of excitement in his voice, one that Simmons was not used to, and that had only caused him to frown. Eventually he had changed the conversation into something that was easier to talk about (or at least argue about) –Grif’s promotion.
“Ah, don’t be like that, Simmons.” Grif sat on his new bed, opening a package of snackcakes he had somehow managed to snatch during the tour. He looked up at Simmons as he said, “At least two weeks.”
“Want to bet?”
“Depends.” Grif tilted his head. “Do you have anything I like?”
“That doesn’t really matter since you’re not going to win,” Simmons snorted and reached out with his metal hand to snatch one of the cakes before Grif could eat them all. “They have to find out about your incompetence sooner or later. Sooner, if I know you well. Which I do.”
Grif smirked and licked some chocolate off his finger. “If I’m that incompetent then why did they choose me?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out. Maybe it’s some sort of social experiment? To see what people will do when they’re forced to take orders from an absolute dumbass.”
“Now you’re just being paranoid. No one would be bored enough to watch us do shit.” Grif waved him off. “You’re just afraid to admit that they liked me better than you.”
“Social. Experiment,” Simmons repeated sternly. After having thought about this illogical choice for a while (and he had been thinking about it ever since it was announced), he had come up with the fact that this had to be the most plausible explanation. “No way they’re serious about this.”
Grif shrugged, eying the snacks again. “So when will you start calling me ‘sir’? ‘cause I feel you’re actually disrespecting me right now.”
“Well, I’m not gonna you call you it when you’re wearing that,” Simmons said with distaste in his voice and a nod towards Grif’s current outfit. The cyborg could not remember a single time the t-shirt had been washed. It was too big, even for Grif, worn enough for holes to start to appear, it was orange, of course, and then had the words THIS IS MY HAWAIIAN SHIRT written over it. It smelled, too, but Simmons had grown so used to it that it only felt comfortingly familiar.
It was hard to imagine Grif as a Sergeant when he was wearing that. Truth to be told, it was hard to imagine Grif as a Sergeant in any scenario, but Simmons knew that when they training began tomorrow, old habits would creep up on him. Despite the fact that Grif was Grif.
“If you disrespect me in front of my troop tomorrow I’m going to have to punish you.” Grif sounded just a bit too amused at the thought, so Simmons decided to rebel by stealing the last cake right in front of him. It did not cause the reaction as expected. Instead Grif just tilted his head. There was an unreadable glint in his eyes. “You know, if you suck up enough for me, I might promote you to Super Private, Double First Class.”
Simmons froze, considering the offer. A promotion for what? His dignity? Swallowing down his long-lived desires, he instead spat, “I’m not kissing your ass.”
“C’mon, Simmons. You kissed Sarge’s ass for years. What’s wrong with mine?”
“It’s fat for a start.”
Despite his frown, Grif did not look irritated at the comment. “That is not how you suck up, Simmons.” He groaned slightly before letting himself fall backwards, now resting on top of the bed. He placed his hands behind his head. “You know you can’t escape it. It’s your nature to be a kissass. I’m your new ‘sir’ now.”
Simmons looked away to hide the sudden discomfort that sentence caused him. “They first introduce you to the others tomorrow. Until then I’d like to think of this as a joke gone wrong.”
“Just what would the punchline be in that joke, Simmons?”
“Me. Probably. It usually is.” Simmons looked down at his hands. “I should probably head back to my quarters. At least this bunkmate can’t snore louder than you. It’s not physically possible.”
“So you’ve met the poor idiot who’s stuck with you?” Grif’s voice sounded genuinely curious. He had even raised his head a bit to look at Simmons’ face.
The cyborg was already standing up but froze to continue the conversation. “Not really. He wasn’t there when I checked in earlier.”
“Huh. Does he know about the-“ Instead of finishing his sentence, Grif instead gestured towards his own face with a hand, fingers spread out.
Simmons blinked, not understanding immediately. “What?”
“Your face’s half a metal bucket, Simmons. It might surprise someone.”
“Oh.” Suddenly conscious of his looks, the cyborg felt his own cheeks burn. It had never been a problem back in Blood Gulch, but on the other hand, those people had also been the ones performing the surgery on him. “Hadn’t really thought of that.”
“Just saying you might want to give them a heads up,” Grif said rather casually, looking at the ceiling again. “Wouldn’t want them going around screaming ‘Terminator’. Wait, that’s actually pretty cool. You should totally let them do that.”
“Well, what about you? Your face is-“
“My face is magnificent, Simmons.” The voice that cut him off was rather stern but had a light tone to it. It softened a bit as he continued, “Doesn’t really matter anyways. I’m the Sergeant and the Sergeant never takes off his helmet. It’s a sign of weakness.”
Simmons began to walk towards the door, sensing the conversation was about to end. It had been a long day, after all. It was not every day that you were forced to leave the place that had been your home for years. “You know that’s just something Sarge said, right?”
“Well, I don’t really know shit about being a Sergeant so I’m gonna have to take his word for it.” Grif yawned loudly, effectively rubbing off the exhaustion on the other person in the room. “I’ll be taking my nap now. Travelling to new places is exhausting.”
“You were napping the entire time on the ship,” Simmons reminded him with a hand hovering above the door panel.
“And you woke me up before I was ready.”
“We were fucking landing, dumbass.”
“Yeah? I still wasn’t ready.”
To be fair, neither of them seemed to have been ready for this. Especially not Donut. Poor guy had sobbed the day that they had been given their orders. Sarge had been more distant to the problem, simply denying it. Simmons still remembered the way his eyebrows had furrowed this morning when the ship had announced its arrival.
Simmons opened the door, his back turned to Grif. “Just try not to be too much of an embarrassment tomorrow. We have Blood Gulch’s name on the line.”
“Well, that place was a shithole so nothing to worry about then.”
The door slid close behind him, and Simmons discovered that the lights in the hallways had been dimmed during the time he had spent in Grif’s room. The base seemed even quieter now, somehow.
Simmons snuck back to his quarters, not even getting lost once. There he found to his surprise that he was unable to open the door.
After enough attempts to unlock it, followed by a desperate knocking, a voice finally called out from inside the room, “What’s the password?”
“Wha- what?” Simmons stuttered, blinking. He had not been informed of this. He would have remembered, certainly. “I mean, sorry for not following protocol, but I’m kinda new here. I haven’t heard anything of a password…”
“Oh, I’m just kidding. There’s not password,” the voice continued. It sounded rather young but with a slightly mocking tone to it, like a chuckle was hiding at the end of the sentence.
“Oh. Great. I guess.” Simmons inhaled slowly, still facing the door. “So any chance you could let me in now?”
“You see, instead we have something called rules. And one of those rules says everyone must be in their quarters before curfew.”
Simmons should have expected that. It was logical though he’d preferred if he had actually been informed of it. There had been no curfew in Blood Gulch, mainly because the sun never moved and Sarge was fond of surprise midnight attacks. “Yeah, okay, I get that, I really do but-“
“And unfortunately for you curfew began 24 minutes ago.”
Simmons clenched his teeth, holding back either a scream of frustration or a string of swearwords. “Yes, sorry, I didn’t notice… Look, it’s my first day here and-“
“Let me give you an introduction then,” the voice purred. “My name’s Owen, this is my home, and the only reason why we’ve made it so in this far is because we follow the rules.”
“Nothing to worry about then!” Simmons did his best to sound cheerful and believable – a task that should have been easier than what it felt like right now. “I love rules, really, just ask-“
“Then maybe you shouldn’t go around breaking them,” Owen replied smoothly.
Simmons dropped his jaw. “Seriously?”
“Goodnight.”
“No, no, no, no. C’mon. Owen. Buddy.” He began to knock on the door again. “Please let me in. I didn’t mean to… It was all Grif’s…” Simmons then heard the audible click of a light switch being flicked off. “…fault.”
Simmons slammed his forehead against the door in frustration and truly tried to convince himself that the cold touch of metal against his skin was comforting.
“M’sleeping!” Grif called out when someone knocked on his door. He knew, after being informed of it too many times, that this new job involved new responsibilities but that did not give them the right to wake him up in the middle of the night. There should be a rule about that. Maybe he could make one?
“No you’re not. You wouldn’t be talking to me if you were sleeping.”
At least it was not one of the new, strange assholes. Grif rolled over with a groan but did call out, “What do you want, Simmons?”
“Can I come in?”
Simmons’ voice was quiet enough to make Grif leave the bed and unlock the door. Outside was the cyborg, eyes fixated on the floor and with a distressed frown on his face. “What, roommate kicked you out?” Grif asked as he let him in. “That was fast.”
“Something like that…” he said. “Apparently the doors lock after curfew and, well, I couldn’t get in.”
Grif snorted loudly and locked the door to be sure no one else would disturb him later. “So you came here to, what, share a bed?”
“You’re too fat,” Simmons replied quickly. “I wouldn’t even get a quarter of it.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” He quickly crawled under his blanket again but kept his eyes open so he could stare at the cyborg who still had not moved.
Simmons’ head was still tilted downwards. “Just… Let me sleep on the floor for the night.”
“That’s just sad.” Grif sighed but then rolled over, pressing his back against the wall in order to make as much space as possible. He lifted the blanket to show the empty side of the bed to Simmons. “Look, I’m not offering this again. This is a very big sacrifice for me. You better feel grateful.”
“Fine.” Simmons lifted his stare and revealed his blushing cheeks. “But we’re never talking about this, okay? The others can’t know. They’d just… You know.”
“Yeah, and I’d rather not get fired for unacceptable bed-sharing with an inferior.”
“Stop putting it like that.”
Simmons’ cheeks had reached a whole new shade of red as he crawled into the bed. It was not like they had not done it before since Grif had apparently required both of their blankets on the truly cold nights back in the canyon. In order not to lose his own body heat, Simmons had been forced to come along with his blanket.
They both rolled over so they were lying back to back.
“Almost like Blood Gulch, huh?” Grif asked jokingly after a while.
“I guess,” Simmons answered quietly and then pressed his eyes closed so that he could pretend.