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“You see that cloud up there? The one moving super really slow? I think it looks like a puma. No tusks at all. What do you think it looks like, Simmons?”
He turns his head, grass tickling the back of his neck, and he watches the ball, his buddy – no, friend – and hopes he is enjoying this break as well. Even though the clouds are moving awfully slow. One could almost think time never passes in this place. Or maybe the day just goes by really, really, really slow. It’s weird.
I don’t even think it is a cloud. I think it’s just poisonous gas emitting from this place because you because you stink.
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Grif sits up, runs a hand through his hair. It’s greasy, almost wet, and he should fix that because Simmons always hates when it’s greasy and then he will never dig his fingers into Grif’s hair again, never play with it again, like he had done back in the storage closet before –
Focus. His eyes lands on the bases in the distance, watching the black spots that seem to have been growing on the buildings like a weird sort of mold. “You know, maybe it’s the trash bags. They smell. I should take them out. It’s probably the trash bags. Yep. You always tell me to take them out.”
And you never do it because you’re so laaaazy.
“Right, sorry, I’m gonna take them all out now, Simmons, just watch me.”
Grif picks up Simmons and tugs him under his arm, and as he carries him back to the bases Simmons scolds him for his messy shirt and the smell of his armpit.
Simmons is placed on the top of Red Base and from there he can see Grif work and tell him when he’s moving too slow or scold him when he trips or drops the bags or when one of them rips open and Grif has to pick up all the items by hand.
There’s Donut’s favorite shampoo, all empty. One of Sarge’s YooHoo’s, the remains too old, the red color all wrong. Lopez’ used oil can. Simmons’ night shirt which he had to throw out after Grif spilled his soda on it. He had been so mad back then…
At some point Grif almost stumbles over Sarge who berates him for a while but then says it’s okay because he was just about to trip over Grif as well – he can’t tell Grif apart from the trash bags.
Grif lets him laugh for a while before carrying him to the wrecked Warthog that Lopez is trying to fix. Donut is gone again but he’ll turn up eventually.
The Blues yell at him when he tries to enter their base. Well, Tucker yells.
Fuck off, Grif. Come to steal our snacks again?
“Nope, sorry, just here to take out the trash.”
What, you are that desperate for leftovers? That’s just sad, dude. And gross. You’re gross.
Church looks a bit smaller than the last time Grif saw him. Maybe he’s sad as well.
Hey, no Reds allowed. Don’t take my stuff, asshole.
“You don’t want the trash anyway! It’s trash, you’ve already thrown it out. Don’t tell me you’ve bonded with it.”
I named mine Clark.
“Well, shit, oh, Caboose, I have to borrow him for a minute. Church is your friend, he’s here. Don’t be sad. Seriously.”
Church is a good distraction and Caboose does not cry today which helps Grif with that knot of guilt inside his chest. He hates making Caboose cry. The others hate him when he accidently saddens the Blue because no one really likes depressed Caboose.
It’s pretty cute that Caboose has bonded with the trash bag, Grif thinks to himself before throwing it into the big pile he’ll burn later. Weird and messed up but at least Caboose has a big heart that lets him be friends with items.
When the bags are gone he steps inside Red Base to take a break, maybe grab some stuff from the fridge, but, fuck, he has already forgotten how there is nothing left but a few MREs and the methrooms, because he got stressed the first day alone and ate everything he could his hands on.
Ate like a pig.
Yeah, Simmons was right, it had probably not been a pretty sight. Good thing he had first showed up later so he had not witnessed Grif at his lowest.
Live like a pig too. The place is a pigsty. You get it? Because you are a pig. And you live here.
So the place is not exactly clean, despite the lack of trash bags. Grif looks around, sees the dirty floor and the mess the others had left behind, items spread on every available surface.
Simmons hates when their home is messy. Grif should clean it so he can be happy and pleased and not angry with Grif.
“Right. I’ll fix it. I know I never cleaned it before but I can totally do it now. I have lots of time now. So much time. I’ll clean it. You’ll love it, Simmons.”
He can’t remember the last time he cleaned, despite how Sarge sometimes punished him with the duty. He hesitates in front of the cleaning supplies, knowing he’s allergic to some of them. Sarge has written ‘SAFE’ with a red marker on half of the bottles, and Grif tilts his head, considers, and comes to the conclusion he should probably avoid those bottles.
But would it make Sarge happy? It’s always good to keep Sarge entertained. But the last time Grif had suffered from an allergic reaction from the cleaning supplies he had bled on the floor which had only caused Sarge to scold him from making the place even more messy and sticky.
Grif cleans the floor. The walls. Rearranges the pillows on the couch, brings the items to their rightful rooms. He picks up the barrels that have fallen over, organizes them, only three next to each other, three is a good number, and Simmons likes numbers and math and stuff.
He tells Simmons he is sorry for causing a mess but it’s better now, the room looks better, Grif is better now. And now Simmons can be happy, should be happy, is he happy with Grif?
Because the base is spotless now, the floor shines, nothing is out of place, and Grif’s hands are sore and the skin is irritated and his eyes scratch a bit, but he smiles and looks at Simmons who has been supervising him from the counter.
“I think it looks really good now. I think you’d like it. Do you like it? Makes me happy, are you happy? I think you should be happy. I think I did well. What do you think, Simmons?”
You know what I think.
The ball snorts, and for a moment Grif is sure he sees it tilt to its side.
Then Grif lets his head hang.
Here on the moon with insults from the past creating echoes inside his tired brain, ringing and hollowing, Grif is acutely aware of what Simmons thinks of him.