Hullo again. This was written for a fic and trade. it was a bit like a secret santa. You'd get a prompt from someone and then you'd write their story. Mine had Grif and Simmons being 'bros', and this was the result.

As always, if you read, please review. I always like hearing what my readers have to think!

"Son of a bitch..."

Grif stopped walking down the hall of the base. That was the forth time he had heard someone yell that. The first two times, that was just par for the course in Red Base. The third was pushing it. This was.. new.

Sighing, he wanted to keep walking down the hall. This wasn't his problem. And if it was Sarge, vent his frustration by taking potshots at him. Grif remembered the last time that happened. He shook his head. His ears still rung from time to time from that.

He cocked the door open a crack and peered in. He groaned again, and slowly walked in.

"Hey Simmons... whatcha doing?" he asked softly.

Simmons didn't lift his head up from the table he was slouched over. He simply peered one bloodshot eye out from under his arms. "Just... getting a drink," he said slowly.

Looking at the bottles that littered the table around Simmons, Grif arched an eyebrow. "I didn't even know we had this much... is this really beer?" Grif asked, astonished. Bending down, he picked up one of the bottles and read the label. "And this is the good stuff! Simmons! Why would you hold out on us?"

Pushing himself up from the table, Simmons groaned. "If I showed you my stash, you'd have drank it in a week." His most recent bottle rolled off of the table and onto the floor.

Laughing, Grif sat down across from him. "Nah... More like a couple days."

Simmons just shook his head, a slight grin flickering across his face. "'Course," he said simply.

"Especially now! Whole new liver and everything!" Grif grinned again.

"Not new. Just used." Simmons said, the grin slipping away from his face.

Grif put on a goofier grin. "Well, basically new. It's not like you really used it much, did you?"

"There's not much place to get alcohol in the middle of a box canyon Grif," Simmons said flatly.

"Oh, but you sure managed to get all of this!"

Rolling his eyes, Simmons sunk back in his chair. The television in the back of the room droned on about the war and the rounding up of a few more Freelancers agents in preparation for the trial of some doctor. Landing on the remote, Simmons turned it off.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Scanning the table, Grif frowned. "Did you really drink... nine... ten of these by yourself?" he paused for a moment.

Simmons shrugged.

"How long were you down here?"

"Today? Hour. Two."

Grif was silent for a minute, looking at the bottles again. "I didn't think you drank," he said simply.

"I don't." Simmons shrugged again.

"Then... where did you get all this?"

"Emergency rations."

Grif looked up from the beer bottle he was reading for the fifth time. "Emergency rations?" he repeated.

Simmons shrugged. "Yeah. Emergency. But do you know how hard it is to drink through this damn helmet?" He gestured to the helmet on the floor behind him and almost fell out of his chair.

Grinning, Grif shook his head. "Simmons, you should know me better by now. How many times have I snuck some food or drink in those helmets while Sarge was giving us a lecture?"

"Good point. You are the laziest person I know." Reaching down, Simmons pulled another bottle out of the case next to him. He opened it with his bare hands, and sat it in front of Grif.

Picking it up, Grif's grin grew. "You know just how to butter me up, don't you?"

"Your lazy ass? It's not exactly rocket science. And I know rocket science," Simmons said simply. He then reached down and pulled one out for himself.

"Hey, it's part of your ass too!" Grif laughed.

Simmons rolled his eyes. "At least you improved with some of my better qualities."

"Your ass was your best quality?" Grif slapped the table. "Did it get kissed as much as you kissed Sarge's?"

"Shut up Grif!" Simmons said, flicking a bottle cap at his friend. Grif moved his head to dodge it and flicked another back at Simmons. They grinned, trying to hit each other for a few minutes. Grif thrust his arms in the air as a bottle cap hit Simmons' straight in the forehead.

"Hah! I win!" he shouted.

Simmons shook his head. "Only because I'm drunk." He flicked another cap at Grif and missed horribly. Grif simply grinned and took a drink.

Looking down at his hands, Simmons asked simply "How come we haven't gone back for the body?"

Grif almost choked. Placing the beer down and hitting himself in the chest a few times, he stared at Simmons. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Simmons, that place is crawling with military ops. The same guys who allowed the Freelancers to run around. We can't exactly go waltzing in there. Not now. Not with..."

Simmons cut him off again. "Not with another Freelancer in our midst?"

Taking a deep breath, Grif nodded.

"And why the fuck should we care?"

Reaching for Simmons' beer, Grif said quietly, "I don't say this often, but maybe you've had enough to drink."

Snatching the beer, Simmons' kept it out of his friend's reach. "Who cares that we have the damn guy in our camp?"

Sitting back down slowly, Grif said, "He did help us fight the Meta."

"He's the one who killed Donut!" Simmons yelled.

"He saved us from the Meta the first time around. He's part of the team now," Grif said flatly.

Simmons slapped his bottle off of the table. It shattered as it hit the wall. "He murdered one of our friends! Are you so much of a dick you don't care?"

"And you don't think that bothers me?" Grif shot back angrily. "You think I don't care that he killed one of our friends? But what do you want us to do? Turn him in? Let him get killed? You know the military is trying to hunt down any remaining Freelancers!"

Simmons slammed his fists on the table. "Yes we turn him in! We adhere to protocol and make the best out of it! That way we get a little bit of closure."

"Look... I would love to slap Washington around a bit for what he did to Donut. But what you're wanting to do... that's too far." Grif shook his head.

"So what?"

"It's just the alcohol talking. Believe me. I know. You should have seen the ass I made of myself back in my high days."

"As much as I hate to admit it... I have to agree with Grif," a voice said from the doorway. "Especially out of how big of an ass he is."

Both privates blinked as they turned to look at Sarge. Shaking his head, the Sergeant said, "Look at this mess! I expected this from Grif, but from you Simmons? It's a disgrace to the Red uniform!"

Simmons lowered his head back to the table and muttered a simple "Sorry sir."

"Wait a second..." Grif said, "I thought you had gotten over the whole, 'no red and blue' thing?"

Sarge looked at him sternly. "Now look Grif, I know you're not the sharpest tool in the shed, but try to keep up. We here are facing a time of great loss! Well, you two are. But we have to hold onto something!" He snatched the beer from in front of Grif and drank it quickly. Slamming the empty bottle onto the table, Simmons groaned.

"Now, soldiers," Sarge continued, "I know you both have questions. And I know you're both taking what happened the last few days hard."

"What was your first hint?" Simmons grumbled, looking at all of the beer bottles..

"But..." Sarge said, ignoring Simmons, "I want you to know, I'm..." he paused, trying to find the right words. "Well, you two are doing... just what I expected you to do."

Eyeing the empty bottle, Grif muttered, "What? Fight and hide in the base? How is that any different from what we usually want to do?"

"Hell no! Like I said, try to keep up!" Sarge shook his head. "You two are going along with what happened, and even trying to comfort each other! You two aren't namby pambys who need to be praised or complimented! And some of you never will!" He gave a pointed look to Grif. "But you two know what's real! And you're doing it better than some I've seen!"

Simmons looked up at Grif. He couldn't believe it. "Is... Is Sarge trying to tell us he's proud of us?"

Sarge touched his forehead. "Have you two ever once heard me say that? Of course not!"

"Figures," Grif mumbled.

"But what I am saying is that..." Sarge paused, again trying to find the right words. "Ah hell, give me more of that beer."

"But Sarge, aren't you on duty? That's against regulations!" Simmons said.

Rolling his eyes, Sarge yelled, "And so is having a Blue in the base! So give me a drink!"

Simmons and Grif stared at each other. Sarge had invited a Blue into the base? That was unheard of. Even after they had worked together, he had still always complained about the lousy Blues and how it was up to the Reds to get anything done. Grif brought a finger to his temple and twirled it. Simmons just looked back at Sarge.

"A what is in the base sir? I don't think I heard you correctly..."

"There will be time for you to get your ears checked later! I am not inviting Doc back into the base! He never leaves!" Sarge waved a hand in front of his face. "Now, give me one of those beers! And give one to the Blue too!"

Grif and Simmons stared as Washington walked through the door. Simmons jumped to his feet and began to walk towards him. "Why you son of a bitc-" he started, before Grif leapt to his feet and tackled him.

Wash blinked, opening his mouth to say something and then closing it again. He didn't even know where to begin. Sighing, he looked at Sarge who just shrugged. Sarge then toke two beers out of the container and offering one to Wash. He declined, still watching the two soldiers roll around on the floor.

"What did you do that for?" Simmons yelled.

"Are you stupid? He'd kill you!"

"Let him try!"

"You couldn't even hit me with a bottle cap and I didn't even feel like dodging half the time!"

"Then why the hell are you wrestling me?"

They knocked over a few more bottles before Grif sat up, with Simmons held underneath him. Wash shook his head, wondering if he should reconsider the beer.

Sarge gestured for Wash to sit down, let them fight it out a bit more. Wash ignored him. Walking over to the two, he sat on his heels so he could look at them, face to face. "Look, I know we haven't been on the best terms this-"

He was cut off by Simmons' swearing. Grif quickly brought a heel into Simmons side, making him grunt. Grif just grinned at Wash.

Washington continued. "I know we've got off to a rough start, but hear me out.."

"What have you got to say? Murderer!" Simmons yelled.

Grif hit him again. "Ignore him. He's drunk."

"No. He's right," Wash said softly. Both privates looked up at him. Closing his eyes, Wash took a deep breath. "I've done... things that have killed a lot of people. You have no idea how many." His face creased as memories flashed through his head. He could still hear Epsilon narrating some of them.

"Those were all due to orders. But this time, it was different. This time..." He looked back at the two soldiers and stood up. "Sarge, thanks for the offer, but I should really get back to Blue base. Who knows what Caboose is doing without a capable adult around."

Grif and Simmons looked at each other in confusion.

Removing the beer from his lips, Sarge yelled, "But that kid Tucker's with him!"

"I said capable adult," Washington said flatly. Sarge laughed.

At the doorframe, Washington stopped. "And you two," Simmons and Grif looked back at Wash. "Go to radio channel Delta, frequency Epsilon. There's something you need to hear." Nodding back to Sarge, he left.

Slowly, the two privates got to their feet. "What did he mean, 'go to that channel'?" Simmons asked.

"Hell if I know," Grif shrugged, "but there's one way to find out." He tossed Simmons' helmet to him. It hit Simmons in the chest. Mumbling, Simmons messed with a few controls.

"If adjust this to use the onboard mic system as a speaker " Simmons muttered, working on the helmet, "You should all be able to hear..." there was a loud burst of static. "There we go! Hello! This is Blood Gultch Outpost Number One. Who is this?"

Grif and Simmons waited, both of them leaning over the helmet. Sarge leaned forward in his chair a bit, trying to hear better as well.

There was another burst of static before a voice broke over the radio. "Simmons? Is that you? I knew you'd miss me!"

"Donut?" Grif and Simmons shouted. Simmons dropped his helmet out of surprise. They stared at each other before Simmons quickly picked the helmet back up. Sarge laughed.

"Was that Grif? And Sarge? Aw, you guys do care! I knew it! That's it, when I get back, you're all getting a big group hug!" Donut said happily.

Simmons stuttered. "But... we saw Agent Washington shoot you! You died! How are you..."

"Oh that?" Donut laughed. "He didn't kill me! It hurt, yeah, but he shot the thickest part of the armor! Then it went into some weird lockdown mode. I was like that for a while, and let me tell you, being stuck in one place isn't as much fun when your safe word doesn't work."

"Oh god.." Grif groaned.

"Wait, why are you waiting until now to tell us? It happened almost two weeks ago!" Simmons asked, "We thought you were dead!"

"Well, I was waiting for your birthday silly! I wanted this to be a surprise!"

"My birthday isn't until next month!"

"That's what makes it a surprise Simmons! Duh!"

"Yeah Simmons," Grif chimed in. "You really should have expected that from Donut."

"God dammit Grif!" Simmons' palm slapped his own forehead.

"Okay guys, I have to go! These Freelancer guys want to talk to me one last time before I can get back to the base! And remember, group hug for everyone!" Donut squealed.

"Hey Donut! See if they have anymore headlight fluid!" Grif chimed in.

"Will do!" The radio clicked, signaling Donut's sign off.

Grif and Simmons sat there, staring at the helmet as Sarge continued to laugh. After a moment, Grif turned and looked at Sarge. "Wait. You knew?"

"Course I did! You think I'd let in someone who killed one of my men in cold blood come into our base? Hell no!" Sarge shouted, slamming his beer on the table.

Grif blinked. "Well, I honestly didn't think you cared."

"Not about you, numbnuts! If Wash had taken a shot at you, I wouldn't have let him in unless you were dead!"

"Thanks sir," Grif growled.

Thrusting his helmet over and onto his head, Simmons tapped it once to make sure it was on correctly. Nodding to himself, he stormed out of the room, muttering, "I'm going to kill them both!"

Sighing, Grif followed towards the door.

"What are you going to do?" Sarge asked, "Try to stop him again?"

"Are you kidding me?" Grif said incredulously, "I want front row seats for this! I'm just mad we let Wash leave. I don't want to walk all the way to Blue base to watch Simmons get the crap kicked out of him"

Sarge laughed. "You know, I think you're right. Come on. Let's take the Warthog. You're driving."