Perceptions II
Grif set the case of whiskey down in the store room. At least Sarge was good for something; Command always sent a couple of cases of alcohol with their supply shipments. But today was different. Today the mail had come as well. There wasn't much mail to be had out here, not with the four of them, but there had been a letter for him today and the envelope had made his stomach sink.
Before he read that letter, he was going to need something to cushion the news that he knew was inside, so he slipped off with two bottles of whiskey, a fresh carton of cigarettes, and a bag of barbecue chips. They had yet to find his new hiding place, and he felt confident that today would not be their lucky day, so he settled himself in for a long haul.
First things first, he pulled out a cigarette, just to calm his nerves enough to even look at the envelope again. He knew it, he had known it for years. They all had one like it, an unsealed envelope with some letter or other tucked inside. This one he knew well, he had seen it countless times, but he never had expected to really be the one holding it. It was worn and stained, crinkled and creased, had been torn once and taped back together. Had splatters of mud, blood, and who knows what else on it. But most importantly, it had his name, enlistment number and request to be forwarded to his current location.
By the time he had finished two cigarettes and half a bottle of whiskey, he was finally feeling like he could handle opening it. The letter inside wasn't in much better shape than the envelope had been, but it was legible and he opened the folds with a kind of gentle reverence he rarely showed anything.
Hey Grif,
Well, I guess if you're reading this then you know what that means. I'd rather not think too hard on it myself. Not that I'll be doing much of that now anyway.
Um.. It's kind of hard to think of what I should say once I'm gone, but I guess I should at least say that you can have my guitar, and my music collection, I know you always liked that.
Please keep in touch with my mom, okay? I know she always thought of you like another son, and she'd hate for you to lose touch now. Maybe... maybe it can help her if she feels like she at least has you left.
Best Pals,
Jase
P.S. I really hope that you're sitting safe reading this and not blasted to fuck next to me. Then who'll read my letter?
Grif turned the page over.
P.S.S. I never got a chance to tell you... I always loved you like a brother. You were always there for me and
The letter ended. Grif wondered if he had been still writing it when the time came, or if he had just gotten distracted like usual and forgot to finish. A drop of water hit the page and Grif looked up, wondering if it was raining, before he realized it was his own tears. He lit another cigarette. As he was tucking the letter back in the envelope, he realized there was something else inside.
Tapping it on his hand, he worked it out, realizing it was an old, faded picture of the two of them their first day of basic training. They had signed up together. 'Someone has to watch your back,' Jase had told him.
"You stupid bastard," he mumbled, wiping at his face as the pain and anger blended. "Fuckin... went and got yourself killed. Gdammit, Jase, why did you have to be the one to die?"
He didn't do much the rest of the day. He went through two packs of cigarettes and a bottle and a half of whiskey before he had finished screaming, crying and generally working out his rage and grief.
And then his thoughts had moved to someone else quite without warning. Simmons. He had never really told Simmons how he felt. He always just sort of figured the red-head knew. I mean, hell, they slept together, didn't they? But that wasn't the same thing as having feelings for someone, and Grif knew it.
He really did care for Simmons. Even if he never showed it except when they were alone together. Even if he never said it, Simmons knew, right? Simmons had to know.
Right?
Grif sighed and pushed himself up, falling back down, pushing himself up again, stumbling over the rocks around his hiding place, forgetting his cigarettes, heading back for them, falling down again. He finally managed to get himself together and back to base, back to their room.
Simmons was asleep. He knew he would be. He stripped off his armor and stood in the middle of the room for a while, wondering if he should just go to sleep or if he should try to talk to Simmons. Drunk logic won out and he padded over to his partner's bed.
He wanted to tell him how he really felt, he wanted to tell him the things he never had told him before because he was afraid if he actually said the words that it would somehow be over. He didn't know why he thought that. Maybe because everything else he had ever counted on in his life had let him down, and he didn't want to count on Simmons and find himself disappointed again.
But all he could think about was not wanting Simmons to die without knowing. Or himself to die without having said it. He tried to make himself sound coherent, tried to pretend he wasn't quite as drunk as he was. He eased himself into bed behind his partner and nestled in to the familiar comfort that he always felt when they were together.
Simmons was asleep. He couldn't hear anything he said, but he rambled on anyway. Maybe if he could just find the words, then next time they would come out easier. Maybe if he could practice on him while he slept, then when he was awake he could say it again, and not feel like it was for the first time. And finally the point he was clumsily trying to make slipped out.
"I love you."
He fell silent, but then felt Simmons start to shake, his breathing coming a bit more ragged.
"S... Simmons? You awake?" He brushed his fingers against his lover's face, somewhat horrified to find it wet. "Y- you're crying? Hey... why're you crying."
"Just shut up, you idiot," Simmons murmured, sniffing as he turned over in Grif's arms.
But Grif didn't want to shut up. Simmons was crying and he wanted to know why. "Hey... what're you cryin' for?"
Simmons pushed his face into Grif's chest. "Just shut up and go to sleep."
Grif obediently fell silent. Simmons had heard everything he said, hadn't he? Maybe he didn't want to hear it. Maybe he didn't feel the same way. Maybe Simmons was only with him because the other options were somehow even more disgusting to him. Not that there were really other options anyway. Donut? Yah, right. Sarge? Grif didn't even want to consider that as a possibility.
He sighed and tightened his arms around the man he loved, feeling quite positive he'd never have the nerve to repeat his drunken confessions.