Perceptions III
Simmons was the first awake, laying in the silence of the morning and wondering at the tight grip that Grif had on him even in his sleep. There was an almost desperate need to it.
His arm was asleep and he tried to maneuver himself into a better position without disturbing Grif. He didn't know why he bothered, but for some reason he still did. It was while he was trying to get comfortable again that he saw the delicate white streaks on Grif's face, made more prominent by his dark skin; the trails of dried tears.
Had Grif been crying? Probably just from being drunk, he told himself. He tried to ignore the look of pain that was on his face, a deep ache that not even his sleep had managed to smooth away. As careful as he had tried to be, his movements made Grif sigh and stir and at last his eyes fluttered open.
They lay quietly for a while, just looking at one another. Neither was quite sure what to say, and both had far too much to say. Grif had a hangover pounding in his head and making his stomach feel nauseous. Simmons sniffed a little, still able to smell the smoke and alcohol that permeated everything about the man.
Grif brought one finger up to trace the faint white trail that was left on Simmons's face, the evidence of his own tears. "Why... why were you crying?" he murmured softly, as much because of the throbbing of his head as anything.
Simmons dropped his eyes, unable to hold Grif's gaze. "What do you care?" he replied at last, not seeing the look of anguish that crossed Grif's face. "Where were you yesterday? You couldn't even help put away the food you stuff in your face?"
Grif winced. "I uh... I needed... some time alone," he mumbled.
"Whatever. You were just getting out of work like always, why do you even bother trying to come up with excuses anymore?"
Well, this day had started out just brilliantly, hadn't it? Awake for two minutes and already they were fighting. Grif relaxed his hold on the red-head, feeling less inclined to be so close to him all of a sudden. Simmons rolled over to face the room, not getting up just yet but not wanting to smell the stink on Grif's breath.
"You'd better not leave your armor all over the place either," he said, not even realizing how naggy he sounded. "I'm not picking up after you again."
"Yeah," Grif breathed. "Sure."
"Come on, get up," Simmons growled at last, throwing back the covers and sitting up himself.
Grif groaned a little as the movement made his head throb even worse than it had been.
"And don't think that being hungover is going to get you out of work today. It's your own damn fault," the red-head continued. "That's what you get for drinking yourself stupid instead of focusing on important stuff."
Grif wanted to cry again, but he refused to allow himself the luxury. That letter was important stuff! Certainly more important than anything in this fucking canyon. He mentally excluded Simmons from the comparison, but knew that he had made a mistake last night. Simmons really just didn't care. He was glad he could blame his lapse in reason on being drunk, however much of a lie it would be.
Simmons was up now and fussing with his clothes. When he was dressed he gave an irritated glance over at the bed where Grif had rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. Grabbing some of Grif's clothes, he wadded them up into a ball and chucked them at him. Grif groaned in pain but Simmons would have none of it.
"Don't think you're gonna laze around in bed all day! You were already fuckin' lazy enough yesterday. Now get up or I'll tell Sarge you made off with his booze."
Pushing himself through the pain, Grif sat up, his vision going spotty as he tried to pull his shirt on. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to think. It especially hurt to think about yesterday. And last night. He sat, panting heavily from what felt like a lot of exertion just struggling into his shirt. He finally managed to get his feet swung over the edge of the bunk and one leg in his pants, but then couldn't move anymore. The nausea was threatening to spill onto the floor and his vision had gone almost entirely black
Simmons was standing there, growing more and more irritated the slower Grif went. Finally he snapped. "Get your lazy ass out of bed and get up and help us!" he yelled, throwing his hands in the air.
Grif managed to get his other legs into his pants, but when he struggled to his feet, it was finally more than his body could handle. He let out a small groan, and then crumpled to the floor unconscious.