Perceptions IV
"Grif?"
Simmons stood horrified at the scene before him. "Grif, say something..." He knelt down and nudged the man, getting no response at all.
"Grif, I swear to god, if you're faking..." But he wasn't faking for once, and Simmons knew it. "Oh god, I killed him!" he choked, but quickly regained his composure. Grif wasn't dead. He was just... what was he??
It took him a few tries to get his arms situated around Grif and to get enough leverage, but he finally managed to haul him up and get him back on the bed. He almost cried with relief when Grif gave a low moan. Simmons patted his cheeks but wasn't able to rouse him further. He pressed his palm to his forehead to feel for fever, giving a small sigh that there was none, then he tucked the blankets around him and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry, Grif," he murmured softly. "I didn't mean to yell at you."
He could hear the others stirring in the base now and frantically thought of some way to keep Sarge occupied enough to stay away from Grif for the day. He glanced back down at Grif's face, looking much more pale than it should, then pushed himself up and headed for the kitchen.
"Good morning, Sir," he said, forcing somewhat of his normal chipper tone.
Sarge gave a little grunt as he sipped at his coffee, then finally said, "Mornin, Simmons-"
Simmons immediately jumped in before Sarge could say anything more. "The supplies from yesterday are all stowed away." He shot a warning look at Donut not to say one single word. The pink grimaced a little and slunk back to the stove to finish his pancakes.
"Oh. Well, good-"
"Aaaand the warthog is polished."
"So that's why Lopez was in such a good mood," Sarge mused.
"So if you won't be needing me, Sir, I thought I might spend the day organizing my... uh... sock drawer."
Sarge raised an eyebrow, but had long ago stopped questioning Simmons's obsessive-compulsive habits. He just gave a nod and took another sip of his coffee. Simmons was convinced he had pulled it off, until Sarge spoke again.
"I'll just get the meat-sack to help me with my-"
"No!" Simmons yelped. Sarge narrowed his eyes and Simmons quickly floundered for an explanation. "I mean... Uh... well, Sir, I used the last of that soldier poison you had ordered yesterday. It was really strong, I think he might not have much time left."
"Oh. Good work, Simmons! Maybe Command will see fit to send me someone worthwhile for a change!"
"Yes, Sir," Simmons mumbled as he turned out of the room and headed back to their quarters.
With that little hurdle out of the way, Simmons headed back to their room. Nothing had changed. Grif was still out cold and his armor was still a mess and... With a sigh, Simmons began to clean it up, stopping when the letter fell out of the jumble. He stooped down and retrieved it, looking from the envelope to Grif, then back.
He suddenly felt as if all his joints weren't working quite right as he tried to walk over to his bunk, sinking down beside Grif as he pulled the letter out and read.
His third time through was interrupted by a knock at the door, and he knew it wasn't Sarge's knock, so that only left one other option. "Come in, Donut."
The door opened and in came the Private who took two steps into the room, then stood gaping. "Oh no!" he squeaked. "You really did kill him this time!"
"Shut up! I did not," Simmons moaned. "He got blind drunk yesterday and passed out when I tried to get him up this morning."
Donut made to reply, then glanced between Simmons's bunk and Grif's, then pointed at Simmons with gleeful accusation. "Why is he in your bed?"
"Uhh..."
"Are you two-" Donut made some hand motions and Simmons blanched.
"God no!" he cried, then gave a resigned sigh. "Not like that, anyway. It's not... we don't have sex or anything. It's just... it's nice... to not feel so alone," he said, his last words trailing off a little.
"How long as this been going on under my nose?" Donut said, coming to sit down beside Simmons, who shrugged.
"I guess... since... well since Sidewinder."
"I knew it!" Donut said, suppressing a giggle. "I knew there was more to you two than all the bickering. Only two people in love can fight that well."
Simmons dropped his eyes and sighed. "It's not like that, either," he mumbled.
"You can lie to yourself maybe," Donut said, sounding far too reasonable all of a sudden. "But you can't lie to me." He stood up and gave Simmons a pat on the shoulder. "Anyway, I've got to do the work of three today-"
"I'm sorry, Donut," Simmons said, but the rookie quickly continued.
"And keep Sarge out of your hair, and still have to find time to squeeze in that manicure, so I don't have time to solve your love life problems today."
Simmons looked up and couldn't help a little smile at the huge grin Donut was giving him. "Thanks," he hummed.
Donut left, and Simmons put the letter away. He stood in the middle of the room for a while, too many thoughts eating at him, and then he finally kicked off his shoes and climbed in beside Grif.
"Please get better," he mumbled into his shoulder.