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Simmons didn’t make a habit of poking around in Grif’s room. It had looked – and smelt – like a pig sty from the moment he moved into it, and had been largely free of visitors for that exact reason. Aside from opening the door each morning and yelling until Grif made some sort of response, Simmons hadn’t set foot in the room for weeks.
Fate, however, decided to force his hand. Grif was adamant that he had signed the release papers Simmons had pushed under his door, despite forgetting to bring them back before leaving for his final three day patrol. Simmons needed to submit them before five o’clock this evening, so venturing into Grif’s room had been the only option.
He hadn’t meant to snoop. Only, there was so much rubbish piled everywhere, he had to keep moving things to look for the papers, and in his defence, Grif hadn’t hidden it all that well-
Alright, so he had been snooping a little. But he also hadn’t expected to lift yet another pile of dirty laundry to find a thick leather-bound book underneath it.
He blinked down at it for a few moments, frozen with the dirty clothes still in his hands, not even registering the title through his surprise. He couldn’t remember seeing Grif with a book…well, ever.
It was only after a few seconds that he properly read the gold-lettered title on the front cover: Nuptial Law. That was even more confusing. Not only was Grif reading, but his material of choice was a dusty law tome?
Simmons put the laundry down and flipped through it, but there was no bookmark to indicate what Grif might have been looking at. Stumped, he went back to the Contents and read down the list. It covered everything from marriage to divorce, though the latter seemed to be the much larger section. The book was, according to the title page, specific to the jurisdiction of Chorus.
As Simmons put it back down again he finally spotted the papers, half-hidden beneath a magazine on Grif’s cluttered desk. He picked his way across the floor, secured his prize, and left the room as quickly as possible, the mysterious book for the moment banished from his immediate attention.
It was only when he was giving the papers (which Grif had, mercifully, signed) a final once over before he submitted them that the connection clicked. As Grif was leaving the army, he’d no longer have to move around the galaxy at the will of higher command – and whoever he wanted to live with would no longer need a formal bond of matrimony to ensure a placement together.
Which meant he might be thinking of ending the hastily agreed upon marriage their panicked younger selves had entered into in an attempt to keep from being separated when they got transferred from Blood Gulch.
“Are you alright, dear?” the UNSC admin rep asked kindly. “You look very pale all of a sudden.”
“Fine, thank you,” Simmons forced out. He took a few deep breaths, trying to make the hollow pit of shock and anxiety in his stomach go away, and then handed her the papers. “These are the discharge papers I discussed with your colleague last week. For Captain Dexter Grif and Private Kaikaina Grif.”
“Interesting,” she said, taking them from him. “Mostly I’m doing sign-ups, these days.” Her eyes scanned the paper slowly. When she finished she nodded and stood, smiling at him. “I’ll get these filed for you. There might be a delay in processing, we’re working on a shoestring connection out here. Sometimes we can’t get through for hours. Honestly, it’s one step up from working out of a tent!”
“Hopefully we can get something better set up for you soon,” Simmons said woodenly.
“Oh no, I’m used to it,” she said, leaning on her desk. “Spent most of the war in tents registering refugees. Sometimes we processed over fifty enlistments a day. So many orphans with nowhere else to go.” She sighed heavily. “But I’m sure you know what that kind of situation is like, just as well as me. Do you need to update anything while you’re here?”
“It should all be up to date. Thank you.” Simmons left the tiny, slightly ramshackle building in a hurry, eager to get out from under the rep’s penetrating gaze.
It doesn’t mean anything, one half of his brain tried to tell him as he made his way down the street. So he had a book that happened to include this planet’s laws for divorce. So what?
You should have expected this, another voice said. You never told him anything. He still thinks this is a marriage of convenience.
It is still a marriage of convenience, Simmons thought, shoulders sinking in despair. That’s the problem.
He went back home on autopilot, tapping in the codes for the main door and his own apartment without even thinking about it. He flopped on his bed and closed his eyes. You should have said something, a voice in his brain kept repeating, You should have said something years ago.
A knock sounded on his door. “Come in,” he called, sitting up.
Kaikaina stuck her head around the door, beaming at him. “You’re back! How’d it go, all done?”
He nodded. “The papers are being filed. They’ll send us a message when they’ve been processed, I guess.”
“Awesome! Thanks for taking care of it, Simmons.” Then she looked at him closer, narrowing her eyes. “You look upset,” she accused.
“I’m not!” he said, reacting on instinct. She didn’t look convinced. “I’m not,” he repeated, hoping he sounded firmer. “I’m fine.”
“Even with your best bud leaving the army and you staying?”
Grif’s sister had an uncanny way of guessing just what it was that bothered him. Still, Simmons nodded. “It’s good he’s staying here. He hates being in the army.” And that was the truth. Despite his own feelings about leaving Grif behind, he’d never seen his friend so happy as when the UNSC official said he was eligible for an honourable discharge on medical grounds. Grif would be much happier here, and Simmons could be happy about that.
Kaikaina was still looking at him suspiciously. “Are you suuuure?” she asked.
“Yes, Kai, I really am fine,” Simmons said, irritated. “Did you want anything else?”
She gave him a long, considering look, then said, “Nope. See ya,” and backed out of the room.
Simmons closed his eyes, rubbed his flesh hand over them, then stood and went to his desk. Grif wouldn’t be back for another two days; he could just ignore it until then. Or until Grif came and confronted him with it – whichever came later.
For now, he had work to do.
/
True to form, Simmons hadn’t been able to stop worrying about it. For most of two days now it had been lingering at the back of his mind, a nagging worry that he had no way to settle. It wasn’t as if he could get Grif over the radio and demand to know if he wanted a divorce or not; instead he had to sit on his hands and pretend nothing was wrong. And, being honest, there was no way he’d be able to confront Grif about it even when he got back. He’d have to wait for Grif to come to him.
Which, knowing Grif, would probably happen later rather than sooner.
The combined team of Kaikaina and Donut had figured out that something was wrong, but Simmons was determined not to breathe a word. Neither of them knew about the marriage – no one but Grif and himself knew – and he wanted to keep it that way.
Simmons wasn’t in the motor pool when Orange Squad got back, but Grif caught up to him in the mess hall. Simmons didn’t hear him sit down over the banging and hammering coming from the wall a few metres away, where a construction crew were patching up a hole in the rickety structure. Having been abandoned for almost five years, Hana City wasn’t in great shape, though they were making the best of it.
“Hey, Simmons,” Grif said, catching his attention.
“Oh,” he started, then recovered enough to sound somewhat casual. “You’re back. Everything okay?”
Grif shrugged, but he was smiling a little. “Quiet. But what do I care? Last ever patrol.” He took a large bite out of his baked potato. “So long as you remembered to submit the forms.”
“After having to wade through the sea of garbage in your room to get them, yes, I did,” Simmons said.
Grif frowned at him. “What, you went poking through my stuff?”
Was there something I wasn’t meant to find? “I went poking through your dirty laundry,” Simmons retorted. “Which, by the way, is disgusting. I can’t imagine the state your house is going to be in when you get one.”
“Maybe he’ll be house proud?” Donut put in from Simmons’ left.
“Judging by previous evidence, I seriously doubt it.”
Grif just gave him the finger and turned back to his plate, while Donut launched into a summary of how he wanted to decorate his own house when he finally left the army. Simmons tuned him out, nodding vaguely at the right moments, and considered Grif. Was he going to come forward about the divorce? Or was the book nothing? He didn’t look any different, or like something was bothering him; just dug into his food with his usual gusto.
“I’m still stuck between violet and periwinkle,” Donut lamented, as if the fate of the universe hung on the decision.
“Violet,” Grif and Simmons said, almost exactly in synch.
They sat eyeing each other with mild surprise while Donut grinned and said slyly, “You’re so cute, you guys.”
“Shut up, Donut,” Simmons muttered, turning back to his food.
/
Simmons remembered every detail of the wedding, despite the fact that it had barely merited the name. It hadn’t been anything more than the two of them, sitting in front of the computer screen in the caves late one night, signing all the paperwork needed to make the marriage legal. Vic had certainly been enjoying himself, babbling about how he never thought he’d get to officiate a real wedding. Simmons even remembered most of that, burned onto his memory along with everything else that had happened that night.
He hadn’t felt like that at the time of course. Then he’d only felt relief, and a lingering sense of shock that Grif hadn’t just laughed in his face when he suggested the idea.
The officers from Control had visited the bases just after the Omega incident, asking lots of questions, and then declared that they had three weeks before receiving transfer orders. The idea of moving to a new base with entirely new people had sent Simmons into cold sweats, and Grif had found him having a minor freakout in his bunk a few hours after the officers left.
“You’ve been in awhile,” he’d said, “You could probably ask for a discharge?”
“And do what?” Simmons had snapped, for a moment forgetting that Grif knew nothing about his circumstances outside of the army. That Grif didn’t know Simmons had nothing to go back to, nothing to fall back on.
Grif had shrugged and flopped down onto his own bed. “All I know is I’m not exactly ecstatic about moving to a new base with a new CO who’ll probably want me to actually do stuff.”
That had made Simmons grin a little. “Yeah, god forbid you actually have to contribute to the team.”
“Fuck off Simmons, you’re the one freaking out about it.”
“I just-” Simmons had sighed heavily. “I just hate having to be the new guy. I only just got used to being here.”
“I mean…” For once, Grif had sounded hesitant. “We could ask to transfer to together. If you want.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Simmons had said. “I swear, did no one but me read the reg book?”
“What way does it work, then?” Grif had demanded.
“You can only ask to be stationed together if you’re married,” Simmons had said without thinking.
There had been a long silence, in which they’d both slowly looked up until they met each other’s eyes.
“You’re not thinking about it,” Simmons had whispered.
“I mean…” Grif had shrugged. “Not like I wanna be on my own either.”
And that had been that. It seemed such a stupid decision, in hindsight, especially seeing as they hadn’t even needed to use it; their transfer orders had moved them together without any outside influence. Simmons had asked Grif later if he wanted to end the marriage, but he’d said leave it. After all, there was no telling when they’d be transferred in the future.
That had seemed more than reasonable at the time, and Simmons had stopped thinking about it. Almost forgotten about it, in fact.
Until he’d gone and fallen for the stupid idiot.
/
Three weeks later, and Simmons had almost managed to forget about the whole law book incident. It was still there, a persistent little worry niggling away in the back of his head, but for the most part he could banish it now. Grif hadn’t come forward and said anything; Simmons had probably overreacted.
Still, he felt a thrill of nerves when he received confirmation that the Grif siblings’ papers had been processed, and they were officially discharged.
He tapped out a quick message to Grif before he forgot. Your confirmation letters just came through, you and Kai are officially discharged.
Grif replied a lot quicker than Simmons expected him to. That’s great. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, actually. Can you meet me after you’re done?
Simmons stared at the screen for a moment, his heart beating fast. This is it, he thought, he’s been waiting until now to tell me.
He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, to try and push down the feeling of panic in his stomach. It was fine. He could handle this. Yeah sure. Where?
The living room is fine.
The building they’d converted into makeshift barracks had originally been an apartment block, so the large apartment Red Team shared had come with an extra room they’d decided was a living room. They didn’t exactly have a couch, so wooden pallet crates had to suffice. Simmons found Grif in there when he got back after his shift, standing next to the window and looking slightly nervous.
Not as nervous as me, Simmons thought to himself, taking a deep breath. God, what if I can’t do this?
Grif noticed him before he had the chance to talk himself into bolting from the room. “Hey,” he said. His voice sounded casual, but something about his movement as he turned from the window and crossed his arms was off; he was stiff, a little jumpy.
“Is something wrong?” Simmons asked. He figured they might as well get to the point.
“No, it’s-” Grif cut himself off, looking almost…anxious. It was so odd to see him look that way that it took a moment for Simmons to recognise it, by which point Grif was saying, “It’s er, about our marriage. Thing. Y’know.”
There it was, plain and in the open. Simmons firmly suppressed the sting of hurt that rose in his chest. Now that they were doing this, he might as well make it as quick and painless as possible for both of them. “I know. I found that book you had when I was looking for your papers,” he admitted. “I guessed then what you, y’know…wanted.”
Grif looked thunderstruck. “You did?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s kinda obvious, right?” When Grif just looked confused, Simmons continued, “And it’s fine. Like, I am absolutely fine with it. It’s perfectly understandable, now you’re leaving the army...” I should have expected it, he thought, but didn’t say. The words sounded too bitter in his head to speak aloud.
“It’s…perfectly understandable,” Grif repeated slowly. His face had suddenly gone still.
“Of course it is.” Simmons didn’t know what else to say, and the silence stretched as Grif just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Desperate for something to fill the silence, Simmons said the first thing that came into his head. “I don’t feel the same way,” was what came out, and he immediately fought the impulse to slap his hands over his mouth.
Pain jumped lightning-quick across Grif’s face. “You…you don’t feel the same way,” he repeated, almost whispering.
“But that doesn’t matter,” Simmons said hurriedly, “because if you feel-”
“No, y’know what, Simmons, it’s fine, I’m just gonna-” Grif started walking backward toward the other door. “Look I’m just gonna, I’ll just go, we don’t have to talk about this-”
“Wait, don’t we need to sign things- I mean if you have the papers-”
“Papers?” Grif asked, pausing in his flight toward the door.
Simmons fought the urge to yell. He was already having to go through with this, he didn’t need Grif making it harder- “The divorce papers, Grif. Y’know, the ones you have to sign. To get divorced.”
“You want to get divorced,” Grif said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“No!” The word came out before he could stop it, and he really did put his hand over his mouth this time. God, of all the occasions he’d had, now was when his mouth felt the need to run away with him and confess? He lifted the hand from his mouth and said, “I mean, I know that you want to, so I’m-”
“What?” Grif interrupted. “That I want to? Where the hell did you get that idea from?”
“I just told you! From that book you had!”
“It was a book about marriage!” Grif protested.
“It was a book about marriage law, featuring a large section on divorce,” Simmons argued back.
“So you just assumed-”
“You’re leaving the army!” Simmons cut him off. “The whole reason we got married in the first place is moot now because you won’t be moving around anymore so I assumed you wanted to move on with your life and find someone else so you needed-”
“That’s not why,” Grif said quietly, and Simmons’ rambling explanation died in his throat.
“Then-”
“The original reason we got married doesn’t matter anymore, yeah,” Grif says. He’s twisting his hands together, an unconscious nervous gesture Simmons has never seen him make, and he’s looking somewhere in the vicinity of Simmons’ shoulder instead of his face. “So I wanted to ask you if you…maybe wanted to…I mean, if you wanted to make our marriage of convenience a…normal marriage. Of…” Grif swallowed, then looked up and locked eyes with him. “Of love.”
Simmons opened his mouth, then shut it again. He couldn’t seem to make words form through the shock that felt like ringing in his ears. Had Grif really said-?
“Simmons, dude, don’t BSOD on me after I’ve just said that,” Grif said, sounding more nervous than Simmons had ever heard him.
“Yes,” Simmons whispered; then, louder, “Yes. I want to- I always meant to- Yes.”
Grif’s face broke into a tentative smile. “You mean it?”
Simmons nodded slowly. “I always meant to- I mean,” he cleared his throat, “I should’ve told you ages ago, about how it…wasn’t really a marriage of convenience for me anymore.”
The laugh that came from Grif sounded slightly choked. “We’re not exactly the best fucking communicators in the galaxy.”
“No.” Simmons paused, then he laughed, short and derisive. “I really thought you wanted to divorce me!”
Grif snorted. “Yeah, you would jump to the worst conclusion, Mr. Doom and Gloom.” He grinned, the expression a little hesitant. “But I don’t. Like…ever.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them.
Simmons sniffed, smiling as well. “That’s good enough for me,” he said quietly, and then Grif was pulling him down into a kiss.
/
“I cannot believe that I have known you, supported you, shipped you, for nigh on thirteen years now, and not once did you ever tell me you were married!”
“Technically, Donut, we weren’t married when we met,” Simmons pointed out.
“That’s even worse! You didn’t invite me to the wedding!”
“It wasn’t exactly a top hat and tails affair,” Grif said with a snort.
“Even so!” Donut scowled at both of them. “I am still offended.”
Simmons was beginning to regret his split-second decision to tell Donut everything. It was only because he’d happened to walk in on them in the living room, still kissing, and it had all come out-
“Just wait til I tell Tucker about this,” Donut said, sounding gleeful.
Grif glanced at him, and Simmons shrugged. “May as well let everyone know,” he said, trying to sound casual. Inside, he felt something warm glowing in his chest. The thought of everyone knowing was a little scary but also…good.
He didn’t miss the way Grif had a little smile on his face, too.
“I know what you can do to make it up to me,” Donut said while he tapped out a message on his comm pad.
“Oh yeah?” Grif asked, affecting boredom.
“Let me plan you a proper wedding.”
“We don’t even know if we’re having-” Grif looked over at Simmons. “I mean…are we having…?”
“I guess? It’s not like the first one was a great romantic occasion.”
Grif grinned, then tried to hide it as he looked back at Donut. “Then, yeah, I guess you can do it. But I reserve power of veto.”
“We do,” Simmons corrected.
“Fine.” Donut looked mostly mollified by the prospect. “I’ll go get my scrapbook.”
“Scrapbook?” Grif and Simmons questioned at the same time.
Donut rolled his eyes at them over his shoulder. “I committed to this ship. Trust me, I’ve spent time on this wedding plans scrapbook.” With that he disappeared through the door, humming to himself.
“Promise me there’ll be no lace,” Simmons said under his breath.
Grif laughed, and reached out to take his hand. “Sure – that’s a hard no on lace from me.”