Title: Rain in the Desert, Part III (And Epilogue)
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Prompt: 18. Rainbow
Pairing: Slightly Grif/Simmons
Rating: T for only teensy bit of dirty language
Word Count: 1302
Summary: Soon he found himself on the top of the base, staring up into the bright blue, almost cloudless sky for any evidence that there had even been a rainstorm.
Disclaimer: Red vs Blue characters belong to Rooster Teeth. I'm only borrowing them for the moment. :3
A/N: This one is definitely the shortest, but I think it wraps up the story nicely. Other than that, I don't have very much to say (gasp!).
---
Grif was the last to emerge from their underground barracks, having taken his sweet time to make his way down the hallway and up the ladder that lead above ground. The "garage" floor of the base was empty, save for a few errant puddles and the echo of voices from the floor above him. The steel doors had been opened, letting the scorching light of the sun back in. Grif sighed, wishing the storm would have lasted longer. Now there weren't any good excuses as to why he shouldn't work.
"Where's Grif?" he could hear Sarge complaining. "That dirtbag needs to carry these buckets!"
"You want me to go beat him for you, Sir?" Grif grimaced at the sickly sweet intonation in Simmons' voice.
"Thank you, Simmons, but that won't be necessary."
Grif sighed; he might as well get this over with, and then maybe Sarge would let him sleep the rest of the day. Not that they had anything else to do, anyway.
Trudging reluctantly toward the grav-lift, he stepped into the pulsing light blue field and let it raise him gently to the next floor. "I'm here, I'm here," he grumbled when everyone turned to look at him.
"About time, numbnuts! You almost forced me to start plannin' on infiltrating the Blues' base for backup."
"What?! There is no backup at Blue base!" Grif exclaimed incredulously.
"That's what you think! But little do you know, they've got a secret robot army forming in their underground barracks, just waiting for the command to come attack us while we sleep! By the green of my right hand, I'm going to go and turn them against their owners someday! I just need to wait until the right opportunity arises..." Sarge trailed off, muttering passionately about the Blues and their secret plans.
"Well that made a lot of sense," the orange private stated, rolling his eyes. He drew his eyes over the spectacle of buckets in front of him, frowning in concentration. After a moment of thinking, he pondered, "How are you going to move those? And where the hell are you going to even store all that water?"
"While you nancies were wasting time playing around at your confangled games, I was using my superior intellect to construct a reservoir in the wall of the kitchen and a series of tubes that led to it from above ground!"
"You're a genius, Sir!" Simmons burst, turning to give a look of fabricated awe to his commanding officer. Grif pretended to retch, eliciting a scolding glare and shake of the index finger from Donut.
"Hehe, thank you Simmons. Now all I want you ninnies to do is get these buckets safely to ground level and Simmons here will do the rest."
"I will, Sir?" He didn't sound too happy this time, Grif noted with some spiteful satisfaction.
"You're the only one I can trust with a job this important," Sarge explained, thumping his second-in-command once on the back in a remotely fatherly gesture. Simmons gasped a little, waiting to rub at the sore spot Sarge had created until he thought no one was looking. Grif smirked, but decided not to make a comment.
+++
It hadn't taken that much time to move the buckets, but it had taken a lot of patience. The quickest way to the first floor was down the grav-lift system, but there was no way to jump down the hole with a bucket and not lose half the water inside it. That forced them to walk down the ramp and around the base through one of the doors, which was easier said than done; every time they reached an incline, particularly the ramps, they had to hold the buckets firmly level to the ground and walk slowly to avoid spills. Despite these obstacles they had somehow managed to transport almost all of the water to the basement, losing only two buckets on the way -- Grif swore it was Donut's fault that he had tripped on the way down the ramp and crashed into Simmons, drenching them with the water in both of their buckets.
Now that they were done moving the buckets, Grif was free to do what he chose (at least for the time being). He gloated a little about this to Simmons, who had to pour each bucket into the tubes to the reservoir, but it hadn't lasted long and soon he found himself on the top of the base, staring up into the bright blue, almost cloudless sky for any evidence that there had even been a rainstorm. The smooth expanse of cerulean betrayed nothing but the few wisps of light gray clouds close to disappearing behind the canyon wall. Grif sighed, trying to ignore the lump of homesickness growing in his stomach.
"Looking for more rain?" came a voice behind him. Grif turned to see Simmons stepping carefully toward him, mindful of the puddles still stubbornly sticking around. Grif didn't reply as the maroon soldier came nearer, stopping beside him and peering into the sky himself.
After a moment of silence, Simmons murmured, "Donut is making pancakes, if you want any."
"Mm," Grif grunted in response.
They stood staring at the sky for a few minutes more, neither saying a word as their eyes scanned the heavens. A low sound of content slid from Simmons throat and he smiled softly, making Grif's head snap to finally look at the soldier, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Simmons smile widened as he pointed toward the far end of the canyon. "Look," he hummed. "A rainbow."
Grif turned his gaze to where Simmons was pointing, and sure enough, there it was -- a perfect curve of spectrum, faint and faded just above the rock wall. A small smile pulled at his lips and he stood transfixed by the colors for a moment before turning to Simmons and grinned, "You said there were pancakes?"
Simmons laughed, nodding. "I was wondering when you would ask about them. Come on, they're probably done by now."
He turned and led the way back down into the base.
+Epilogue+
"More syrup?" Donut invited, holding the jar of reconstituted maple syrup over Grif's already drenched plate.
"Oh yeah," Grif responded contentedly, folding yet another pancake so it could fit into his mouth. "Keep 'em coming!"
"You've already eaten like 10!" Simmons complained, gesturing to Donut to put another pancake on his plate.
"Well you've eaten 8," Grif retorted, shoving another pancake into his mouth and chewing on it enthusiastically, lips smacking.
"Uh, guys?" Donut squeaked. "I'm out of pancakes."
Grif sighed. "Man, and I was just getting started, too." He patted his stomach and turned to Simmons, smirking. "Looks like I got the good end of the deal, huh?" He lifted his plate and started licking the excess syrup off of it.
"That's disgusting, Grif!" Simmons barked, watching Grif as if he were transfixed. Grif looked up briefly, shrugged, and continued slurping up the liquid until the brown speckled dish was spotless. He glanced over at Simmons' own plate and asked bluntly, "You done with your plate?"
Simmons nodded dumbly, not stopping Grif as he swiped the plate away and began sucking on it in turn. It didn't take him long to remove all the sticky maple syrup, and he plunked the plate back down on the table to punctuate his finish.
"So, what do you want to do now?" Simmons asked after a pause, trying to ignore the sticky residue clinging to the man's lips.
"Poker?" Grif suggested, shrugging.
"Strip poker!" Donut cut in, bursting with excitement.
"Sure, why not?"
"Grif, don't encourage him!"
Donut beamed. "Man, I can't wait to beat you guys! WOOHOO!" He tore off his frilly apron and dashed out of the room.
Simmons turned to Grif. "Well?"
Grif smirked. "After you."
