Return 1 of 9 - RvB

Title: Return 1/?
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: A twist on Grif/Simmons
Rating: PG-13. Still no blatant smut from me
Word Count: 565 (is it bad that I deleted a word just so this could be a nice even number? "OTL)
Summary: He felt like his entire life was leading up to that very moment...
Disclaimer: I don't own, so please don't sue.
A/N: I've been debating on whether or not to write this for a while, but I finally decided what the hell, I'll do it. This story in particular is very important to me, because it's a way of finally putting to rest a tough experience I've gone through in the recent past. I have no idea how long this is going to end up, so bear with me.

Just a short part to get it going. It would have been longer, but it just called to be finished where it is, so I left it where it is.

---

There might have been a time when Simmons could have been completely honest with himself about anything that sprouted up in his life, but if such a time had ever existed, it had long ago slipped into the fog of forgotten memories hovering at the edges of his mind.

Denial, it seemed, was a much better alternative to the sort of soul searching he really needed. It was a complete and utter denial that even he wasn't aware of anymore.

A forgotten denial that would soon come back to bite him in the ass -- and hard.

+++

"Hey Simmons, could you pass the gravy?" Grif asked around a mouthful of food, pointing lazily to the small ceramic cup holding the food in question.

"Fuck no! It's closer to you than it is to me!"

"Yeah well, I'm busy right now." He gestured with his silverware laden hands at his heaping plate of food.

"You lazy cockbite--"

"Aw, you guys!" Donut's voice burst through their argument like a rainbow laser beam. "Why do you have to be so cute together?"

"I told you, Donut, it's not like that!" Grif protested sheepishly, throwing an apologetic smile in Simmons' general direction.

Simmons averted his eyes and tried to keep himself from reacting as he pushed the gravy silently toward Grif. "Yeah, it's not like that," he reiterated gruffly under his breath. Don't get angry, it's not important... Don't get angry... but still he could feel his teeth starting to clench and his hands curling into fists.

Grif grabbed the gravy without a second thought and dumped half the ceramic pitcher's contents onto his waiting mashed potatoes.

Raising and eyebrow and a disdainful lip, Simmons said, "That's disgusting."

"It looks delicious, and you know it." He paused to shove a forkful of food into his mouth and then around the mush as a sort of afterthought, said, "Kiss-ass."

"What does Sarge have to do with this at all?!" Simmons demanded, his anger finally cracking as he slammed his can of motor oil down on the table. A swirl of oil leapt from the can and left a messy ring around it. Simmons ignored it.

"You always bring him up, why do you have to do that?" the soldier roared, knocking his chair over loudly as he stood up. His anger still needed an outlet, so he slammed his palms flat against the table and leaned forward to glare murderously at the man across from him. "Why do you always bring him up?!"

Grif's eyes widened and he clutched his silverware like they were his last hope of survival. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

"You have no right to call me that! No fucking right!" Abruptly, he spun away from Grif; he could no longer look at him in his rage. But soon he was back, eyes livid with fire. "I could smash you with this hand! I could smash you right into that fucking plate of gravy!" He reached out with his cybernetic arm and shattered Grif's drinking glass.

Grif's horrified, frightened face suddenly made Simmons want to leave. "I never want to see your fucking face again!" he screamed as he stormed from the room.

The door swung shut behind him with a dull thud, and he was alone. His voice was barely a whisper now: "I never want to see your face again..."