Title: Rain in the Desert, Part I
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Prompt: 30. Under the Rain
Pairing: None really, but Grif/Simmons if you want it to be
Rating: T for the language our RVB boys are so fond of using~
Word Count: 2608
Summary: It was summer in Blood Gulch, about 30 minutes till midnight, and a very heavy rain was currently pouring down from the heavens...
Disclaimer: I don't own RVB, any of the characters, or even the actual game of Halo, or an Xbox. DON'T SUE ME, BRO!
A/N: This idea came to me randomly in yearbook class the other day, when I was supposed to be writing my story copy. Strange the sort of places inspiration hits, huh? Anyway, the first line just hit me, and I carried it around with me and mulled it over for about 3 days before I finally sat down and started writing. I'm really proud of how this turned out, and I hope you all enjoy~!
(This is going to be in 3 parts, all using different themes from the 100 Themes challenge I found somewhere on FFnet)
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It was summer in Blood Gulch, about 30 minutes till midnight, and a very heavy rain was currently pouring down from the heavens and drenching the dry, baked granite of the canyon. The ground drank in the water greedily, and still it drenched, a cacaphony of icy water hitting the ground and making the sort of white noise that the armies at either base had all but forgotten. Most of them sat inside the protection of concrete walls, hearing only the faintly dimmed sounds of nature outside, but there was one -- the only sign of life in the whole gulch -- standing on top of a rock just outside Red Base, face tilted to let the rain stream unforgiving down his cheeks and arms outstretched as if to soak in as much of the miracle as he could before it turned back into the wisps of a dream. His armor lay in a heap behind him where he had thrown it earlier, when the deluge had just started painting specs of dark over everything. His thin cotton boxers and white ribbed undershirt were already soaked completely through, but he didn't seem to notice or care about the goosebumps that paraded down his arms and legs or the way he had started to shiver and chatter his teeth at the cold. He just continued to stand there, eyes screwed tightly shut and a grin that could only be described as completely and utterly insane pulling his mouth into a flashing white line bridging between tanned cheeks.
If you didn't know better, you might think he would stay there forever, that nothing could ever make him leave this spot and the caress of Nature against his skin, and you'd have been right -- nothing could have ever moved him from that spot... nothing but a certain private clad in maroon armor, who had decided to brave the storm in order to pull the crazy, good-for-nothing soldier back inside where he belonged (Sarge's Orders).
Simmons peered through the sheets of rain, clawing an impatient hand at the fog that threatened his vision as it clouded over his visor. Everything was cast over with grey; he had forgotten how melancholy a storm could make everything seem, almost like it came straight from an old silent film. How long had it been since he'd last been on Earth, had last been used to diverse weather and rain and snow and sleet? Ten years? Twenty? He couldn't remember. Did it really matter?
Fighting down the wash of homesickness that clawed at his chest, Simmons padded forward warily, keeping an eye out for anything that might decide to jump out at him. He forced a laugh to calm himself; who was he kidding? Nothing would be crazy enough to stay out here in this weather. Well, with the exception of one extremely retarded orange soldier, who he promised himself he would beat the shit out of once he actually found the guy.
...He really didn't like this weather.
Sleet wipers shoop shoop something jumping on the road a deer Quick, hit the breaks! squeal slide the road is gone tumbling rolling down a hill trees dizzy blood blood where is it coming from the ground is ending falling falling falling—
He shuddered and forced the memory from his mind, thinking instead of the nasty things he would inflict on his comrade. Sarge would be so proud.
The edge of the base loomed as he ran out of concrete. A shock of fear once again claimed him, and he stayed well away from the edge (Slipping falling dying). He scanned the surroundings for any sign of life or movement, careful to look for the vibrant orange sure to come with it.
At first, he didn't even notice the person on the rock, even as perpendicular and out of place as he was; there was no movement from the drenched private. But then from the corner of his eye Simmons caught a twitch, the shake of laughter in his shoulders, perhaps, and he snapped his attention toward that move, to those rocks, and a yell of surprise and alarm (So unsafe no traction he could slip crack open his head blood brains freeze die) ripped unbidden from his lips.
"Grif! What the fuck are you doing!?"
A few beats of silence, then, "Leave me alone, Simmons!" Only the slightest tilt of the head, cocky and self-assured and thatsonofabitchisgoingtofuckingdie.
Still refusing to get any nearer to the edge, Simmons yelled back, "You fucking IDIOT! You're going to DIE out here!"
"Like you care if I die."
No response.
"Simmons?"
Still none.
"You don't actually care if I die, do you?"
More silence. Grif craned his neck around to see Simmons standing on the top of the base, gripping the side of one of the wall-barriors with both hands like his life depended on it. He wasn't moving.
A few funny faces and insults later, and still nothing. "Simmons? You okay, man?"
The maroon soldier started, clutching the wall even tighter if that were possible. "You're going to DIE, Grif!" he repeated thickly, his voice straining over the lump of fear in his throat.
Screaming screaming screaming is that me the blood is everywhere crunch impact orange and yellow leaves glass is everywhere silence no one hears me scream pain pain pain blurring PAIN darkness nothing.
Grif slid off the rock with a practiced leap, trotting over to his armor. He reached down to yank it on, then decided against it and threw it back into the mud, padding barefoot around the base to the ramp, cold mud squelching between his toes. He stopped and savored the feeling for a moment, heaving a nostalgic sigh before picking up his pace.
Raining raining churning ocean running barefoot squelching mud damp grass singing dancing laughing raining dancing Listen, Kaikaina, the sky is singing too.
Water rolled down the ramp past his feet as he climbed upward, washing the last traces of dirt and grime from him. The drenched concrete sapped what little warmth he had through the bottoms of his feet, and by the time he had reached the top of the base he was clutching himself and shivering fiercely.
"C-come on, S-S-Simmons," he chattered, reaching out a hand to grab at the maroon soldier. It met the smooth armor of a back plate and bounced off harmlessly. Grif shuddered deeply, teeth clacking together violently, and tried again. This time he managed to find hold on the edge of the plate, and he yanked on it weakly. "S-S-Simmooooons... I'm c-c-cooooold..."
"Grif," Simmons snapped hoarsely, not turning to look at him or even letting go of the wall he still clung to. "You... are...." He shuddered himself. "You... you're..."
"Yeah, y-yeah, I'm h-here," Grif replied, annoyed, and tugged insistantly on the other man once again. "I r-really am going to d-die if we don't get b-back ins-s-s-ide." He paused, coughing uncontrollably. Simmons stiffened in surprise, and once Grif had regained his breath he used this as an opening to loop his arms around the other's waist and half drag and pry him from the wall.
Simmons let go without a fight, surprise at how determined Grif was being overshadowing his mindnumbing panic. The usually-orange spartan drug him halfway to the hole leading into the second floor before he regained his senses.
"Let go of me," he muttered, squirming a little in the slightly smaller man's uncomfortable grip. Grif let go of him gratefully, not even caring that he had just dumped Simmons onto the ground. The Hawaiian immediately clasped his hands around himself and hopped up and down, hoping the movement would help warm him up. Needless to say, it wasn't working.
As Simmons was getting to his feet, Grif started to whine with dismay, "Simmons... I c-can't feel my f-f-f-eeeeeeeeeeeet! My t-toes are going to br-break off-ffff!" His teeth resumed chattering, and Simmons groaned.
"You're an idiot," he murmured softly before switching their previous positions and scooping Grif up into his arms. Damn, if he isn't heavy! And while I'm wearing this armor! What the fuck!?
Grif screwed his eyes shut and moaned, curling into the chest provided to him. His shivering was making it hard for Simmons to hold onto him.
Simmons made his way cautiously to the hole, peering down before deciding where to land. Inside, Sarge had set up about 20 large buckets, all being gradually filled with the collected rainwater. Obviously there was no way they would let such an opportunity go to waste, not while they'd been living the past 8 months without any liquid at ALL besides the mayonnaise they got from Blue Base. After analysing the safest place to land, Simmons sucked in a breath, tightened his grip on Grif, and leapt into the opening.
Oh god I'm falling it's happening all over again rain no ground I'm going to—
He landed solidly just a few inches from where he had planned, the heavy traction on his armor's boots providing a completely skid-free landing. Simmons blinked a few times, surprised at how easy that was, and proceeded toward 'the Hole,' as Grif fondly called it. He manuvered Grif down first, then jumped after him, landing with an echoing thud in the room below.
The doors that were normally open to the elements were completely sealed shut, only the barest amount of water managing to trickle in under the steel doors. The warthog sat in the center of the room, having been moved there by none other than Simmons himself right before the storm had started. For almost a solid minute, the only noise was the soft dripping of the rain above them and the pattering of it outside, but then a pained groan rose from Grif, who had been completely motionless only a moment before.
"S-S-Si-Si-muh-muh-muh--" A hacking cough interrupted him, and he took a minute before it subsided. "C-c-cooooooold!"
"I know..." Simmons murmured, leaning over to grasp the other soldier again. "I'll get you inside as soon as I can." He trotted over to the ladder the led underground and to the barracks, taking the rungs slowly to assure he wouldn't slip and fall. He needn't have worried, though, as he was soon at the bottom and greeted with a locked door.
"Password!" a deep, commandingly southern voice crackled from a speaker positioned above the doorframe.
"It's Simmons, sir," Simmons replied, assuming his role of kiss-ass with very little difficulty. "I have Grif, and he's practically unconscious." Grif moaned for affect.
"Hurry up and come in, I can't stand bein' alone with Princess Pinky here anymore!" A slightly feminine giggle floated over the gruff voice of their C.O.
"Come on, Sarge, it's fun! I'll even show you how to switch to another color, see?" The speakers crackled off, leaving Simmons to wonder what the pink private had even been talking about. He didn't have to ponder it long, though, because the door suddenly slid open and he stepped inside, dumping Grif unceremoniously on the floor so he could take off his armor.
"H-hey!" Grif coughed, sitting up. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms a few times, bending and unbending his fingers and toes to make sure they were still all intact. Simmons noticed and heaved an irritated sigh.
"What the fuck were you even doing out there, anyway?" he demanded, squatting down next to the other private in order to hear his answer more clearly.
"It reminds me of Hawaii," Grif answered simply, rolling away from Simmons and standing up shakily. "I need a blanket. And some hot chocolate. And a cigarette. Actually, make that five."
"Well, you sure recovered quickly," Simmons muttered, then added, "How the hell does that... that... thing out there remind you of Hawaii?!"
Grif shrugged, then rubbed his hands together and blew on them. "Well, it rained a lot in Hawaii around summer time. It wasn't ever so damn cold, though." His head snapped up, eyes glinting as something dawned on him. "Why were you about to shit your pants?"
"What!?" Simmons yelped, feeling a light blush rising to his cheeks. He was almost out of his armor, so he turned his face to concentrate on that instead.
"You know... You were freaking out. A lot."
"No I wasn't." The denial came out before Simmons really had time to think about it.
Grif smirked. "I had to pry you off the wall, Simmons," he retorted amusedly, then turned serious again. "I had no idea you were so afraid of storms, too."
"I'm not afraid of them," Simmons snapped. "I'm afraid of--" He cut himself off, throwing down the last piece of his armor, the black body suit, with a decisively angry gesture. "I'm not going to tell you that."
Grif just shrugged. "Okay, but that just means that I'll assume you're afraid of water, or something."
"Shut up, Grif! You're the one who stands on rocks in the middle of rainstorms when you could fall off and break open your head and break your back and bleed and bleed and bleed--"
"Woah, woah! Calm down, Simmons!" Grif raised a hand to shake the shoulder of the hyperventalating man in front of him. "Nothing happened to me, look! I'm perfectly fine!"
Simmons shook his head. "No, Grif! You almost died, and even if you didn't bleed to death you're still going to get a fucking fever!"
Grif grabbed his other shoulder and shook him forcefully. "What the fuck happened to you!?" he demanded.
Simmons fell silent. "I..." He paused, turning a pleading face toward the other man. Please, don't make me tell you. Please.
"Go on," Grif urged, tone turning softer. "I won't make fun of you or anything, I promise."
"I...I've never told anyone this before. Anyone, not even my own family..." Simmons started. He took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down his face. "Where do I even start?" He cleared his throat.
"The night before I was supposed to leave for the army," Simmons whispered, "I got into a really bad car accident. It was raining," his voice started to choke, "and a deer jumped out in front of my car. I slammed on the breaks and went into the ditch, only it wasn't a ditch, it was a hill that led to a small cliff." He shuddered. "My... my car slid all the way down to the edge of the cliff and rolled off. It was completely totaled and I was knocked unconscious. Somehow I got away with only a broken arm and some random cuts, nothing too serious." He took in a few more deep breaths and then finished, "That was the last time I've seen rain at all, before now."
Grif blinked, unsure how to respond. "Wow," he finally decided, tightening his grip on Simmons' shoulders slightly. "That sounds horrible."
"It was," Simmons muttered. "It really, really was." His heart ached from having to recall the incident yet again, but he felt strangely lifted in a way; he didn't have to carry the burden of that memory alone anymore. "Thanks, Grif," he choked out.
"No problem," Grif murmured, still looking a little unsure of how to act after such a serious discussion. But, being Grif, he soon forgot his awkwardness and suggested, "Wanna play a game or something? Looks like we're going to be stuck in here for a while."
Simmons smiled wanly, glad for any distraction.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
Grif smirked. "And go get me about five blankets and a pack of cigarettes. I'm still cold, you know." He coughed a few times to further his point.
"Oh, fuck you."
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A/N: This went in a completely different direction than what I had originally planned. I was going to concentrate on Grif and his memories of the rainy season in Hawaii, but somehow Simmons butted in with the accident and I couldn't really say no. Sorry if it made him sound too out of character. D: Also, for those of you confused about "Kaikaina": that's Sister's real name. Honest. And sorry if I got the climate of Hawaii way wrong in the brief description of it by Grif. XD; I was too lazy to go back and research it. D:
