[ Simmons was, by habit, an early riser, but no amount of habit could turn him into a morning person, not without a nigh-unhealthy amount of coffee. He grumbled into his pillow as he slowly drifted into consciousness and simultaneously tried to figure out exactly why something felt so... off. Simmons pushed his face farther into the pillow as he
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Comments 69
...Who the hell are you?
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This. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. It's impossible. I must be dreaming or hallucinating or, or something. Maybe the fumes from Grif's room finally got to me. 5 years of exposure to that can't be healthy for anyone. So I guess maybe I'm dying. Is this what I hallucinate in my final moments? I'm sure Freud would have something to say about this.
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Sorry, but, well, this is Mayfield, and I think you're my husband.
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What?
WHAT?
Can we back up a little here? Like, back to the beginning? Can we start with something that makes sense? I think that would be a good plan.
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Wait a sec, are you supposed to be my new "dad"?
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