Sidewinder
This really doesn't fit anywhere into the series. It was just a flash in my head that I decided to write.
With special regard to Michy. I hope I've done Simmons justice in your eyes.
:)
The snow was falling so heavily he could barely see his hands in front of his face. Well, his gloves in front of his visor, anyway. "Ok, so w-w-which direction n-n-n-now?" Grif waited a few moments. Then a few more. Growing irritated as no reply came, he said, "I s-s-said-" A noise from behind made him stop. He didn't want to turn around. It was a dull thud, like someone falling. He inhaled, and turned.
"S-s-s-simmons?" Grif inched closer to where he lay, the crumpled pile of maroon armor barely visible in the thick snow and failing light. "C'mon, this is-s-s-sn't funny."
Simmons made no reply, no movement, no sign at all.
"If you th-th-th-think I'm c-c-c-carrying your heavy ass out of h-h-h-here..." Grif, barely standing up himself, nudged at Simmons with the toe of his boot. "Get. Up," he insisted, ineffectually.
He half knelt, half just fell to his knees, and tried shaking Simmons, but got no response that way either. "F-f-f-fuck, and I'm usually the lazy one."
Half-frozen fingers tried to pry at the clip that held Simmons's helmet on, and after many failed attempts, at last managed to pull it free. Simmons's face was a very unhealthy shade of pale blue, made even more errie by the stark red hair that topped his head. Grif patted his cheeks a little, trying to get him to come round. All he got for his effort was, at last, a very faint groan.
"Dude... we're gonna f-f-f-f-fuckin f-f-freeze our asses off if you d-d-d-don't get up!" It seemed as though Simmons was trying to beat Grif to that very fate, and damned if Grif was going to let him. Someone had to act as a buffer between him and Sarge, after all. If Simmons kicked it, Grif might actually have to do stuff!
He looked back at Simmons's face, already collecting a layer of snow, and knew he had to do something quick. Vaguely remembering some movie where a chick pulled her shirt off to save some guy from hypothermia, Grif decided it was either that, or join Simmons here on the ground and just silently freeze to death. "B-b-b-bastard. You d-d-d-did this on p-p-purpose."
He hooked his hands under Simmons's arms and pulled him under where a bit of rock jutted out from the cliff, stopping when he fell, unable to muster up the energy to even get back to his feet. By now, Grif was shaking so hard he could barely work any of the clips on either suit of armor. It did not help that the darkness was enveloping them rapidly as the sun disappeared, taking with it any possibility of heat. Somewhat protected from the snow, at least, he worked mostly by feel, his suit not even having enough power left for the head lamp to see what he was doing. He finally managed to get them both bare chested, then laid across his fallen comrade. As cold as Grif was, Simmons felt even colder and that made him worry. What if it was too late? What if this was not enough?
What he really needed was to get a fire going, but he had no more energy left to even get up, let alone try to find anything to burn. He did not feel the cold now. He did not feel much of anything. Stupid, fucking ice planet. He closed his eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer. Unconsciousness tugged at his mind until it was as black as his vision.
***
Grif did not know how much time had passed before he began to wake up. At first he thought he was dead, but the pain that bit at his extremities quickly forced the idea from his mind. Hell was hot, after all. He was painfully cold, and yet parts of him seemed oddly warm and comfortable. Sounds he could not quite place were coming from somewhere beside him. Snapping and popping sounds.
He let out a little groan and cracked his eyes open a hair. All he could see at first were the orange flames dancing beside him, warming his face as he turned towards it.
"Oh hey, you're awake!"
Donut. Oh god, this was hell, and it had frozen over! Grif groaned again.
"I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. I've been waiting forever. I'm bored!"
Grif gazed bleary-eyed up at the pink-clad soldier. He tried to speak, to give some snide, sarcastic comment, but his lips were so cracked and broken that he could barely move them, let alone form any words.
Donut barely seemed to notice, continuing on. "I was looking for you for hours and hours! I found what was left of your ship, but you weren't in it, so I started following the tracks, but soon the snow was too thick and it covered them up, so I had to..."
Grif phased him out. The snow had stopped falling and the sky was filled with a thousand points of light. It might have almost been pretty under different circumstances. He tried to look at them but his vision wouldn't focus right and in the end his eyes fell shut again. His toes ached so bad he feared they were going to fall off! Or maybe they already had. Hell, he didn't know. His fingers didn't feel much better. His face was warm, at least. The fire felt good, if a little too hot. His chest was warm, too. Donut's voice abruptly broke back into his reverie.
"It's not fair that you two get to have all the fun. Why wasn't I allowed to play in the snow?"
You... two? Grif's eyes snapped open again, then cast slowly to what lay beneath him. Oh. Oh god. He was still laying bare chested on top of Simmons and Donut was probably getting all sorts of wrong impressions.
Or were they right impressions? Grif felt a heat rise in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire, but before he could focus too hard on being embarrassed, he found himself filled with relief that the color was back in his friend's face. The deathly blue was gone, replaced by tinges of crimson on his cheeks and nose. He also seemed peaceful, sleeping rather than unconscious from the cold.
Forcing the words past his chapped lips, Grif snarked, "We weren't playing, Donut. We damn near froze to death out here."
"Oh come on, it isn't that cold. You should see the winters we have back home in Iowa!"
***
Sarge walked in, eying up the two soldiers in their respective sick beds. Walking to the one on the left, he patted his shoulder. "Good job, Simmons! I should put you in for a medal!"
"Simmons!?" Grif shouldn't even have been shocked anymore.
"Keeping a cool head in the midst of a life and death situation is a vital skill for any soldier! Good thinking using Grif's body heat to keep from freezing to death! Unfortunately, Grif himself managed to survive the ordeal as well, but there are always negative consequences to war."
Grif glared over at Simmons, who looked away. "Thank you, Sir," he mumbled, feeling almost ashamed at getting the credit.
"Doc says you'll both be right as rain in a few days. Won't be amputatin' any toes or nothin' like that."
Donut appeared behind Sarge wearing a frilly apron. God knows where he managed to find it. "He also said to keep plenty of fluids in you, so I'll be making you both hot cocoa! Who wants miniature marshmallows?"
Grif was beginning to think that freezing to death might have been a preferable option to surviving.
When everyone had finally left them alone, the silence in the room was oppressive. Grif closed his eyes but couldn't shake the memory of Simmons's face, so close to death. It made him ache inside for reasons he could not understand to think of losing the only real friend he had out in this god-forsaken place. He wondered if Simmons really even knew how close he had come? Wondered if he knew what he had done for him? He hadn't regained consciousness until he was being loaded on the evac helicopter, but Donut talked enough to not only fill him in on the details but to invent a whole slew of new details to go along with them, and Simmons probably didn't believe a word of any of it.
He was jolted back to the present when he felt a hand touch his. He opened his eyes and looked over at the red-headed soldier.
"Grif?"
"Whaddya want?" he replied, perhaps harsher than he should have. He was irritated at Sarge for once again giving any credit to be had to Simmons. He was irritated at Donut for running off at the mouth. He was irritated at Simmons for not knowing what had really happened.
Simmons gave a sigh, then let his hand drop away. "Never mind," he said and rolled his head to face the wall instead.
Grif just stared at him. Way to go, jack-ass. He thought for a minute, then finally said, "Hey, Simmons?"
"What?" he said, not looking.
He didn't know where his next words came from, but they certainly hadn't been in his brain the second before. "I'm cold."
Simmons looked over at him again, his brow furrowed in confusion at first. Then his face softened a little. "Yeah?"
Grif nodded. "Yeah."
The two looked at each other, neither one really certain of what should be said or done next. Eventually, Simmons made the first move. He scooted to one side of his bed and pulled the covers back a little. Without a word, Grif slipped his bare feet to the floor, standing unsteadily before turning and sitting down on the opposite bed.
He continued to sit there for a minute, reconsidering what he was about to do, when Simmons got impatient. "You gonna lay down or sit there and freeze to death, jackass?"
Grif couldn't help but smile. He snaked his feet under the covers and turned to rest against Simmons's chest, a familiar warmth creeping through him. He felt Simmons's arm slip around his waist and pull him a little closer, then go limp, while still keeping him from moving away.
"Hey, Grif?" came a soft murmur.
"...yeah?"
"Thanks."
With special regard to Michy. I hope I've done Simmons justice in your eyes.
:)
The snow was falling so heavily he could barely see his hands in front of his face. Well, his gloves in front of his visor, anyway. "Ok, so w-w-which direction n-n-n-now?" Grif waited a few moments. Then a few more. Growing irritated as no reply came, he said, "I s-s-said-" A noise from behind made him stop. He didn't want to turn around. It was a dull thud, like someone falling. He inhaled, and turned.
"S-s-s-simmons?" Grif inched closer to where he lay, the crumpled pile of maroon armor barely visible in the thick snow and failing light. "C'mon, this is-s-s-sn't funny."
Simmons made no reply, no movement, no sign at all.
"If you th-th-th-think I'm c-c-c-carrying your heavy ass out of h-h-h-here..." Grif, barely standing up himself, nudged at Simmons with the toe of his boot. "Get. Up," he insisted, ineffectually.
He half knelt, half just fell to his knees, and tried shaking Simmons, but got no response that way either. "F-f-f-fuck, and I'm usually the lazy one."
Half-frozen fingers tried to pry at the clip that held Simmons's helmet on, and after many failed attempts, at last managed to pull it free. Simmons's face was a very unhealthy shade of pale blue, made even more errie by the stark red hair that topped his head. Grif patted his cheeks a little, trying to get him to come round. All he got for his effort was, at last, a very faint groan.
"Dude... we're gonna f-f-f-f-fuckin f-f-freeze our asses off if you d-d-d-don't get up!" It seemed as though Simmons was trying to beat Grif to that very fate, and damned if Grif was going to let him. Someone had to act as a buffer between him and Sarge, after all. If Simmons kicked it, Grif might actually have to do stuff!
He looked back at Simmons's face, already collecting a layer of snow, and knew he had to do something quick. Vaguely remembering some movie where a chick pulled her shirt off to save some guy from hypothermia, Grif decided it was either that, or join Simmons here on the ground and just silently freeze to death. "B-b-b-bastard. You d-d-d-did this on p-p-purpose."
He hooked his hands under Simmons's arms and pulled him under where a bit of rock jutted out from the cliff, stopping when he fell, unable to muster up the energy to even get back to his feet. By now, Grif was shaking so hard he could barely work any of the clips on either suit of armor. It did not help that the darkness was enveloping them rapidly as the sun disappeared, taking with it any possibility of heat. Somewhat protected from the snow, at least, he worked mostly by feel, his suit not even having enough power left for the head lamp to see what he was doing. He finally managed to get them both bare chested, then laid across his fallen comrade. As cold as Grif was, Simmons felt even colder and that made him worry. What if it was too late? What if this was not enough?
What he really needed was to get a fire going, but he had no more energy left to even get up, let alone try to find anything to burn. He did not feel the cold now. He did not feel much of anything. Stupid, fucking ice planet. He closed his eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer. Unconsciousness tugged at his mind until it was as black as his vision.
***
Grif did not know how much time had passed before he began to wake up. At first he thought he was dead, but the pain that bit at his extremities quickly forced the idea from his mind. Hell was hot, after all. He was painfully cold, and yet parts of him seemed oddly warm and comfortable. Sounds he could not quite place were coming from somewhere beside him. Snapping and popping sounds.
He let out a little groan and cracked his eyes open a hair. All he could see at first were the orange flames dancing beside him, warming his face as he turned towards it.
"Oh hey, you're awake!"
Donut. Oh god, this was hell, and it had frozen over! Grif groaned again.
"I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. I've been waiting forever. I'm bored!"
Grif gazed bleary-eyed up at the pink-clad soldier. He tried to speak, to give some snide, sarcastic comment, but his lips were so cracked and broken that he could barely move them, let alone form any words.
Donut barely seemed to notice, continuing on. "I was looking for you for hours and hours! I found what was left of your ship, but you weren't in it, so I started following the tracks, but soon the snow was too thick and it covered them up, so I had to..."
Grif phased him out. The snow had stopped falling and the sky was filled with a thousand points of light. It might have almost been pretty under different circumstances. He tried to look at them but his vision wouldn't focus right and in the end his eyes fell shut again. His toes ached so bad he feared they were going to fall off! Or maybe they already had. Hell, he didn't know. His fingers didn't feel much better. His face was warm, at least. The fire felt good, if a little too hot. His chest was warm, too. Donut's voice abruptly broke back into his reverie.
"It's not fair that you two get to have all the fun. Why wasn't I allowed to play in the snow?"
You... two? Grif's eyes snapped open again, then cast slowly to what lay beneath him. Oh. Oh god. He was still laying bare chested on top of Simmons and Donut was probably getting all sorts of wrong impressions.
Or were they right impressions? Grif felt a heat rise in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire, but before he could focus too hard on being embarrassed, he found himself filled with relief that the color was back in his friend's face. The deathly blue was gone, replaced by tinges of crimson on his cheeks and nose. He also seemed peaceful, sleeping rather than unconscious from the cold.
Forcing the words past his chapped lips, Grif snarked, "We weren't playing, Donut. We damn near froze to death out here."
"Oh come on, it isn't that cold. You should see the winters we have back home in Iowa!"
***
Sarge walked in, eying up the two soldiers in their respective sick beds. Walking to the one on the left, he patted his shoulder. "Good job, Simmons! I should put you in for a medal!"
"Simmons!?" Grif shouldn't even have been shocked anymore.
"Keeping a cool head in the midst of a life and death situation is a vital skill for any soldier! Good thinking using Grif's body heat to keep from freezing to death! Unfortunately, Grif himself managed to survive the ordeal as well, but there are always negative consequences to war."
Grif glared over at Simmons, who looked away. "Thank you, Sir," he mumbled, feeling almost ashamed at getting the credit.
"Doc says you'll both be right as rain in a few days. Won't be amputatin' any toes or nothin' like that."
Donut appeared behind Sarge wearing a frilly apron. God knows where he managed to find it. "He also said to keep plenty of fluids in you, so I'll be making you both hot cocoa! Who wants miniature marshmallows?"
Grif was beginning to think that freezing to death might have been a preferable option to surviving.
When everyone had finally left them alone, the silence in the room was oppressive. Grif closed his eyes but couldn't shake the memory of Simmons's face, so close to death. It made him ache inside for reasons he could not understand to think of losing the only real friend he had out in this god-forsaken place. He wondered if Simmons really even knew how close he had come? Wondered if he knew what he had done for him? He hadn't regained consciousness until he was being loaded on the evac helicopter, but Donut talked enough to not only fill him in on the details but to invent a whole slew of new details to go along with them, and Simmons probably didn't believe a word of any of it.
He was jolted back to the present when he felt a hand touch his. He opened his eyes and looked over at the red-headed soldier.
"Grif?"
"Whaddya want?" he replied, perhaps harsher than he should have. He was irritated at Sarge for once again giving any credit to be had to Simmons. He was irritated at Donut for running off at the mouth. He was irritated at Simmons for not knowing what had really happened.
Simmons gave a sigh, then let his hand drop away. "Never mind," he said and rolled his head to face the wall instead.
Grif just stared at him. Way to go, jack-ass. He thought for a minute, then finally said, "Hey, Simmons?"
"What?" he said, not looking.
He didn't know where his next words came from, but they certainly hadn't been in his brain the second before. "I'm cold."
Simmons looked over at him again, his brow furrowed in confusion at first. Then his face softened a little. "Yeah?"
Grif nodded. "Yeah."
The two looked at each other, neither one really certain of what should be said or done next. Eventually, Simmons made the first move. He scooted to one side of his bed and pulled the covers back a little. Without a word, Grif slipped his bare feet to the floor, standing unsteadily before turning and sitting down on the opposite bed.
He continued to sit there for a minute, reconsidering what he was about to do, when Simmons got impatient. "You gonna lay down or sit there and freeze to death, jackass?"
Grif couldn't help but smile. He snaked his feet under the covers and turned to rest against Simmons's chest, a familiar warmth creeping through him. He felt Simmons's arm slip around his waist and pull him a little closer, then go limp, while still keeping him from moving away.
"Hey, Grif?" came a soft murmur.
"...yeah?"
"Thanks."