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Grif honestly doesn't know what to do when Simmons gets like this.
He was never a touchy-feely kind of person. He didn't have a very touchy-feely kind of family. There was a time where Kaikaina was very self-conscious, when she first started developing breasts, but she got over that quickly and was soon very proud of her newfound features. She was also 13 at the time, so that was normal.
Simmons is a grown man.
Simmons might be older than Grif.
Simmons is currently sobbing in the bathroom like an abandoned child.
Grif has no idea what the fuck he's supposed to do.
For awhile he just lays in his bunk, listening to the wailing and the deep, shuddering inhales of his best friend. This isn't the first time. It won't be the last. He has no idea what to do and he doubts he ever will.
All he can do is lay there and cover his eyes and hope Simmons will stop soon, that Simmons will get back to his usual dorky self and stop beating himself up like this and for the love of God will just go to bed and let Grif get some sleep. He's given up on trying to understand Simmons' issues with his father or his own lack of self-esteem. How he could one minute be cocky about his abilities and the next an insecure mess, Grif will never wrap his head around. He's not even sure why Simmons is having a breakdown right now. Everything seemed fine all day, didn't it? Their usual banter, their usual gentle jabs at each other. What went wrong today when everything seemed so normal?
Shattering glass immediately pulls him out of his thoughts. It's suddenly quiet, really quiet, and Grif is familiar enough with the situation to at least try something.
Simmons is crumpled up on the concrete floor, holding his bloodied hand. He curses under his breath, swears at himself for losing control for the split second and breaking the mirror. Again. He's going to have to order another one from Command without the others finding out, and he's going to have to get rid of all this broken glasses—
“Hey, Dick.”
It takes Simmons a moment to realize that Grif isn't insulting him, but calling him by his name. The larger man is standing in the doorway, one arm extended with a medkit in hand.
He knows he has a confused expression on his face when Grif snorts and rolls his eyes in response. “Your hand's all fucked up, dude. Here.”
They don't say much else. Simmons takes the kit and pops it open, sifting through gauze and ointments to find the bandages he needs. Grif stoops to his knees and starts picking up the shattered glass while Simmons works on wrapping up his hand. He's done this enough times to know how to bandage it properly, but Grif's never been here like this to help him clean up. He's not really sure what to say or how to thank him, so he doesn't say anything. Grif doesn't look like he's expecting anything, either.
Eventually they both get back to their feet, and Simmons awkwardly rubs at his arm. “Please don't tell Sarge and Donut.”
“Jesus Simmons, why would I tell them? Sarge can't even take care of a robot, much less another human being, and Donut would probably just light a bunch of candles and ask you to start a diary.” Grif snorts and Simmons finds himself laughing a little. “Just go to bed. We're running drills in the morning, remember?”
Grif gives him a pat on the back, half comforting, half shoving him back to his bunk. Simmons rolls his eyes but proceeds to his bed, tucking himself back into his sheets and immediately curling in on himself.
It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep, and as soon as Grif is sure he's out, he goes to clean up the rest of the broken mirror. He's not really sure how to stop Simmons from breaking down, but at least he knows how to pick up the pieces.