It's been a while since the Blood Gulch Crew stranded on Chorus. After the turbulent events upon their arrival, things calmed down a bit. Their days consisted mostly of training their lieutenants, training themselves (voluntarily or not), doing some chores, cleaning their weapons and equipment, and going to tactical meetings… Shit like that.

Or well, they were supposed to do all this shit. Grif didn't really think of only doing half of it. Not even a quarter of this work. Standing around and 'training' the lieutenants was even too much work. Whenever he could, he snuck away, slacking off a bit. Smoking a cigarette (Or two or three) and having a nap. It was an easy life like that.

If there wouldn't be Simmons standing some meters away, arguing loudly with Donut.

"No, Donut, we won't make a movie-night and watch your fucking cheesy movies!"

"Aaaw, why not?" Donuts pout was evident in his voice.

"Because he have tons of work to do! Grif slacking off is enough! And not everybody likes this kind of movies!"

"Oh, come on! We have enough free time for at least one movie. Besides, don't tell me you wouldn't love to cuddle to Grif when the teary part starts." This time the grin was audible, the comment making Simmons splutter.

"I-you-what!? I never would do that!"

Grif decided that it was enough of the banter, getting up to shoo these two idiots away to get a proper afternoon-nap. At least this was the plan. When Donut noticed Grif showing up, he scurried the fuck away with the biggest grin possible, leaving a still beet red and spluttering Simmons behind.

The cyborg didn't even notice the shouted announcement of Jensen, obviously again trying to unsuccessfully drive a car without crashing into something.

Of course (What else!?) Simmons stood right in the fucking middle of the street, Jensen already beginning to panic that she couldn't find the brake pedal. Of course. It was right beside the accelerator pedal, but finding it was harder than a needle in a haystack. Figures…

"Simmons watch out!" Grif didn't really think over this whole situation. He just saw his best friend in the direct driving line of the car, the cyborg still oblivious to the approaching danger.

He still cursed Wash for forcing him to join the leg days he put up for Tucker, but exactly this training helped him getting to Simmons before the car. Merely moments before the car would hit Simmons, Grif managed to push him roughly out of the danger zone, making him fall on the ground with a very unmanly scream/yelp.

The last thing Grif noticed was his head colliding painfully with the bonnet when the car hit him instead of Simmons. He briefly wondered how it was possible to have such a painful impact when Jensen wasn't even driving fast enough (Seriously, a pedestrian would walk faster than Jensen is driving). After that, there was only darkness.

The first thing that got Simmons out of his spluttering-fit was a painfully hard shove on his right side, sending him stumbling away several steps.

The next thing was the sound of two things colliding.

Simmons didn't dare to look around. He didn't want to see what happened. But of course he had to look around. There was a car, Jensen sitting at the steering wheel, frozen like a statue. Her helmet hid her features, but Simmons was sure it was shock.

Following her gaze, his eyes soon landed on a familiar orange figure, laying halfway on the bonnet. He just began to fall off the car as the energy of the impact disappeared.

"Oh my god! Grif!" with three huge steps he was over at the Hawaiians side, gently laying him down on the ground.

"Grif! Grif!" No answer. He seemed unconscious.

Other soldiers gathered, decoyed by the sound of the crash, obviously curios what happened.

"Someone get Grey! Now!" squeaked Simmons, feeling the panic rising in his chest. Frantically, he began to search Grifs body for any visible injury. There was none. The redhead couldn't decide if it was for the better or not.

His whole world turned into a blur when Grey arrived and immediately ordered to get Grif to the medical area. Simmons tried to get some information out, but the normally cheery and talkative doc didn't say a word. Until the examination was over.

Grif was wearing his favorite sweaters and shirt after the medics stripped him off his armor to examine him properly.

Luckily, he was blissfully unaware of this whole treatment as he was still unconscious. The cyborg on the opposite side of the doors however was pacing the floor, waiting impatiently to get news from his best friends' examination. If he wouldn't be allowed to go in within the next thirty minutes, he would simply knock down the door and walk right in to see if his best friend/brother in arms/bunkmate and… well… okay, crush too, was okay.

When Grey came out, she didn't even had time to really put her helmet back on, when Simmons already was standing in front of her, questions tumbling out of his mouth. Grey only giggled.

"Your boyfriend will be fine Simmons. Don't worry." When she mentioned boyfriend, Simmons turned beet red again, spluttering something incoherent. Unfortunately, he had to take his fucking helmet off earlier because he felt like suffocating. Grey now seeing his flaming red face making her giggle harder.

This time however, she seemed to decide to not tease Simmons for once about his more than obvious crush on Grif (According to the others), continuing with her explanation.

"He just hit his head and will have a headache and a bump, but he's fine otherwise. We have to wait for Grif to wake up, so we can definitively assess his mental state. I think he has a moderate concussion at least. Well, I gotta go now, although I would love to do some experiments while he's holding still." Simmons glared daggers at her, which she blatantly ignored. "Anyway, he is sleeping. I think that he should wake up soon. You can go in if you want."

Gently prying her arm off Simmons death grip (when did he grab her arm anyway?) she walked down the hallway, one of the medics appearing and obviously asking for her help. Seconds after, she disappeared round a corner with quick steps.

Simmons awkwardly stood in front of the door, not really knowing what he should do. When he wasn't allowed to get in he would have done everything to get in. Now that he was cleared for visitors, he suddenly felt too timid and self-conscious. What if Grif didn't want to see him? When he was angry with him? After the first shock, Simmons had puzzled together the happenings pretty fast, but he was still not sure how Grif would react. On the other hand, Grif still deserved a proper thank you from Simmons for saving him.

In the end, he decided to give it a go, even if it only was to say thanks to him when he wakes up, and carefully walked into the room. As Grey said, Grif was still sleeping. Under his black hair, Simmons could see a pretty big bump on the right temple. As of Grey, there should be no heavy injuries. At least. Simmons let out his breath he didn't know he held it, carefully walking over to Grif. He felt like any too loud noise could startle Grif.

Sitting down on the chair standing beside the bed, the cyborg mustered the features of his best friend. Remembering the accidents, they went through up to now.

This here, the most recent, Simmons had a fucking bad conscience. In the end, it had been Simmons own fault that the Hawaiian had gotten hurt. If he hadn't been standing in the middle of a driveway, nothing would have happened.

Or the time after the Meta incident. Grifs hands had to get surgically treated and the cuts sewn. He had torn them open when he went over the cliff. Gripping for everything he could reach to try to hold on to the sharp ice underneath the snow went directly through the Kevlar-gloves they were wearing. Well, the gloves were ruined as well as his hands.

As the treatment would have been too painful to do the surgery when he was conscious, Sarge decided to 'put him to sleep'. With the butt of his shotgun. Headache for free.

Or the time when Grif had gotten run over by the Tank, where Simmons became half robot. The Hawaiian had been out cold for several days before slowly coming back. All this time Simmons had to live with the nagging question if Grif would ever wake up again and what person he would be after such an experience. He already heard and read about people's character changing completely when they had a near death experience.

All these times, and even more, he had been sitting beside Grifs bed, waiting for him to wake up. Like today. He sat on the chair, closely by his bed to help if he needed some, but enough space to keep his distance and not making him feel like he's getting overrun.

Hours passed by. Simmons would sit with Grif whenever his duties allowed it, anxiously waiting for Grif to wake up. He laid there in the same position the cyborg had met him right after the accident. If it wasn't for the regular rising and falling of his chest, Simmons could have sworn the Hawaiian was no longer alive.

Slowly, Grif clawed his way back up to consciousness. He felt a massive headache behind his eyes and felt like run over by a fucking Tsunami. Fuck, what happened?

Trying to assess the situation, he felt that he was lying in a bed, the chemical scent in the air making it pretty clear that he was in a hospital. He felt horrible. Really, what happened?

He had no fucking clue. He remembered absolutely nothing. He could have gotten run over by a tank or just fell out of his bed. However, he must have hit his head pretty bad as it hurt like a bitch.

Opening his eyes, first thing he noticed was an almost complete blackness. Must be in the middle of the fucking night and as he knew the hospital, there would be no nurse around to look after him right away to give him some medicaments for his headache. Great time to wake up, Grif.

Groaning again, he blinked the bleary vision away to see better. Only to see the blackness of the room more sharp than before.

"Grif, good god, you're finally awake! You made us worry!" Almost jumping through the roof (or out of the bed) when someone spoke up next to him. His eyes were wide, frantically searching for the source of the voice. Soon he found the face of a redhead, obviously the source of the noise.

The redhead hesitated. "Uh- sorry, I didn't meant to scare you."

"'S okay." God his voice was slurry like he's plastered. He looked around, everything looking strangely twisted in the dark.

"Where am I?" he asked a bit anxiously. He wasn't afraid of the dark, but this place was creepy.

The redhead beside him blinked. "You… are in the hospital."

He shortly contemplated the answer. It was obvious, thinking of it, that he was in a hospital. He must have hit his head or something that he was in a hospital.

Whatever happened seemed to have caused enough damage or inflict enough bad injuries that he had to be taken to the hospital.

He tried to remember, but there still was this big black hole there, where his memories should be. He couldn't remember what happened. He couldn't remember how he got to the hospital.

It was only logical that this question would get vocalized, as his memory seemed to fail him.

"You got hit by a car when you pushed me aside. I wanted to say thank you for saving me, Grif." Was the muttered answer.

"Uh, it's okay." He blinked. Did he really save him?

A silence settled in, before he then asked, his voice much more silent than before.

"Who are you? And… who am I?"

"And who are you? And… who am I?"

Simmons heart felt like it shattered into thousands of little pieces. Grif had just woken up from unconsciousness, looking halfway okay.

Then, after a short small talk, he asks who he is and who Simmons is.

The cyborg felt like curling up to a ball and start to cry when he saw Grif sitting there, looking at him expectantly without knowing what happened the last twelve years of his life.

"You- you're Dexter Grif and you come from Honolulu, Hawaii. You prefer being called Grif." Explained the cyborg, swallowing around the forming lump in his throat. He desperately tried to mask his wailing up emotions behind a neutral, yet more friendly mask.

"So that was me you called earlier?" asked Grif

Simmons smiled watery; the smile slipped a bit to the sad side. "Exactly."

"And who are you?"

"My name is Richard Simmons. But I prefer going by Simmons."

"Wait." A huge grin exploded on Grifs features. "Your name is Dick?" Grif started laughing, only to cringe a second later because his head seemed to hurt.

Simmons however felt thrown back about twelve years. Their first meeting had went down the same. Grif making inappropriate jokes about his name.

Back then, Simmons had been angry and furious. Now he was just sick of it, not really wanting to fight over this again.

"Yes, my name is Dick. But as I said, I prefer going by Simmons." Replied the redhead in a defeated voice.

"Anyway." Standing up briskly, Simmons wiped imaginary dust off his clothes. "I better go look for a nurse to check you up. Looks like you have amnesia. She also can tell you more about where you are and what happened." Explained the maroon armored soldier shortly, walking out the door with fast steps.

Walking down the hall, he either wanted to find a nurse to check on Grif, but he also needed to get away. Somehow, it was a relief that the nurse on the night shift insisted on Simmons staying outside Grifs room when she checked him up and talked to him.

Soon after the nurse went in, Doctor Grey appeared, also going into the room. Her smile only meant that she would go psycho-analyze the chubby Hawaiian because of his amnesia. Simmons didn't feel like interfering.

The redhead focused on writing a message to his friends to tell them that Grif was awake, but they probably should wait some more days because Grif couldn't remember them. Fuck, he didn't even know his own name!

Wash was still awake; texting back that he would make sure nobody would overrun Grif. And that everything would work out. That everything would work out eventually.

The maroon armored soldier smiled sadly, texting back his thanks and that he appreciated the pep talk.