Cry, Take Two

“No.” Grif slapped away Tucker’s hand.



The blue said quietly. “I came over here to tell you why I-“



“A month after I asked!” Grif yelled. “Does it take that long to come up with an excuse?”



Tucker’s eyebrows raised, then lowered dangerously. “You’re blaming me for everything?”



“What would you expect me to do?”



“Accept that-“



“What? Accept that I have no fucking idea what you want from me?” He wouldn’t let himself cry again. Not for



Tucker.



Tucker had no reply for that. Grif didn’t expect one. The orange soldier slipped away as Tucker reached for him, shaking his head sadly.



“I waited for you. I gave you so many damn chances.” Grif whispered.



“I’m here now, Grif, I-“



“Shut up.”



“I won’t ever-“



“Just shut the hell up.” Grif hissed. “I don’t wanna hear it!”



He turned on his heel and entered the base. Fuck guard duty. If Sarge wanted it done so badly, he could go out there and stand. Maybe he would even shoot a blue.



Grif glanced in on a cooking Donut. The private wore only pink boxers, a pink frilly…thing covering his front, tied with a drooping bow in the back.



The orange soldier walked up behind him, sighing. He fixed Donut’s bow before continuing on his way to his room.

Donut looked after Grif, slight surprise on his face. It did nothing to cover his blush.



Grif didn’t care if it was early; He showered. He stood beneath hot spray until his skin was saturated, fingers resembling prunes. He turned the water off, standing there. Water dripped off of his bowed head steadily.



He heard Church’s voice. Footsteps approached the bathroom, and Grif momentarily thought about how no lock was anywhere in the blue’s path.



“Grif?”



Church pulled back the curtain slowly. “You in there?”



“You’re supposed to knock first.” Grif said sullenly.



Church frowned. “I’m sorry.”



Grif sighed and said under his breath. “It doesn’t matter.” Louder, he asked, not turning around, “What do you want?”



“To say that… if you ever need…” Church faltered.



Grif turned around then. He was somewhat pleased to see that Church never looked away from his eyes, blue eyes not roaming below his chin.



“Need…?” Grid prompted.



Church reddened. “You know what I…”



“I want to hear you say it.”



Church smiled crookedly. “You told me you liked it, waking up with me. If you can’t sleep… you remember where my room is, right?” He hid his worry well, but Grif read it anyway.



Church’s arms were suddenly full of a very wet Grif. Arms wrapped rightly around him, tears spilling from the orange soldier’s eyes.



Church was the opposite of Tucker. He had to be. They weren’t even dating- weren’t even very close- and here he was, in the enemy base because he was worried about him…



“Thanks.” Grif mumbled.



Church said softly. “Maybe you should dry off now. Donut’s almost done in there.”



Grif stood back and took a deep breath. He turned and turned off the water, turning back to find Church holding out a towel.



“Thank you.” Grif wrapped himself in it, walking towards his room.



“Do you wanna stay for dinner?” Grif called back.



Church smiled. “I’d love to.”



Grif closed his door and dropped his towel to the floor. He dressed with a slight frown on his face.

He didn’t know if he could talk to Tucker again civilly. He wasn’t certain he wanted to. He wasn’t ready for anyone else, not yet. Church wouldn’t press himself on him; He knew that much.

Grif smiled and opened his door. Church was leaning against the wall opposite his room. Church smiled at him, walking behind him to the kitchen.



Grif sat next to Church. The blue was quiet, almost uncomfortable. Donut was really the only man talking; Sarge glared at his plate as if it was its fault that a blue sat at his table. Simmons ate in silence, making small affirmative noises to satisfy Donut.



Church noticed that Grif had finished off his plate and was looking at it contemplatively. The blue stood, taking it in hand. Grif looked up in surprise as Church walked to stove, carefully slicing out lasagna. He slid it back in front of Grif as he sat down and resumed eating his own.

Sarge was muttering to the fork in front of his face. Grif listened carefully, only able to hear every few words.



“…blue…meal…my table…” Sarge looked imploringly at the fork. “My table?”



Grif began to laugh. It started small, but when it finally erupted, it rang through the kitchen. Every soldier’s head turned his way as he wiped tears from his eyes. It had felt so good to laugh again.



“What’s wrong with yer head, dirtbag?” Sarge lowered his fork to his plate.



Grif could only point to Sarge and continue laughing. The C.O. looked to his fork for guidance, Grif laughing even harder. Sarge stood and dumped his dishes in the sink before escaping the presence of the madman.



Church smiled tenderly as Grif took control of his laughter.



“Did you see his face?” Grif chuckled.



Church asked in a gentle voice. “What are you talking about?”



Grif opened his mouth to answer but instead leaned his head on Church’s shoulder and laughed once more.