Work Text:
GRIF
Grif wasn’t drunk. Sure, he had a few beers, drinking was half the reason people came to the Vegas Quadrant after all. He was tipsy. Maybe. But he wasn’t drunk.
The same couldn’t be said for Simmons.
The ginger next to him was absolutely smashed. Grif shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew this guy for all of two months, which wasn’t long. But he really should have guessed that the strait-laced kiss-ass would turn into a blubbering idiot after three beers.
“Why are we here?” Simmons muttered into the shitty wood bar table. He tipped his beer bottle to the side, watching it slosh around the bottom with little interest.
“That’s one of life’s great mysteries,” Grif answered, taking a swig of his. Bright green eyes glared back at him. Grif was always taken aback by how vivid their color was, even now with alcohol trying to dull them.
“Why are we at the Vegas Quadrant?” he reiterated. “I hate Vegas. It’s loud. And crowded. And stinks of desperate people.”
“All I smell is bad beer and piss.”
“Same thing,” Simmons mumbled into the countertop. “Everyone’s gambling their life savings and then desperately going into debt trying to get it back.”
“We’re not,” Grif pointed out.
“The only reason I agreed to come was if we weren’t going to gamble,” Simmons grumbled back. “You had no choice.”
“And I agreed. Now we’re here, drinking our last free day away.”
“I don’t even like beer.” Simmons finished off his bottle, almost knocking it onto the floor when he put it back on the bar.
“Do you want another one?” Grif asked.
“Yes.”
Grif waved down the bartender, getting a new beer for the both of them before quickly finishing off his old one.
“Where are we getting sent again?” Grif asked, passing one of the beers over to his companion. He took it without lifting his head off the table.
“Who the fuck cares?” he replied. “Some desert outpost on some nowhere planet. Not like we’re coming back from it.”
“You have such a positive outlook on life. It’s really going to bring you places.”
“We were the two worst soldiers in basics. They could send us to a kindergarten and we’d somehow end up dead.”
“Five-year-olds are ruthless. Master Chief would have trouble coming back from that alive.”
Simmons snorted in amusement, sitting up enough to sip his drink before laying his head back on the counter again.
“I shouldn’t have joined the military,” he muttered after a long pause. “I’m gonna fucking die for no reason. Alone. In a glorified litterbox.”
“Why did you join the military?” Grif asked before he could stop himself. He wasn’t supposed to care, but alcohol had a way of making him give a shit about things. Apparently, Simmons was one of those things. “I got drafted, what’s your excuse?”
“There hasn’t been a draft in centuries,” Simmons scrutinized.
“They brought it out of retirement just for me.”
“How special,” Simmons said flatly. He was quiet for a long moment before continuing. “Only thing I could think of. Left home with nothing. Needed money. Food. A place to live. Military supplied all that. Plus, it’s the last place he’d look.”
There was a heavy silence between them even as the rest of the bar started getting rowdy. Grif could only watch as the ginger drew random designs into the countertop with the condensation from his beer.
“I hate fighting. I don’t want to fight. But I’ll do it here if it means I don’t have to do it for him,” Simmons continued after a while. “At least I chose it for myself.”
“It’s a pretty shitty choice if you ask me,” Grif stated, taking another, longer chug from his beer. He felt like he was going to need it.
“Better than being under his thumb for my entire fucking life.”
“Who’s thumb?”
“My father.” Simmons dug his nail into the countertop, using it to carve those same water designs into the shitty wood in front of him. Grif hoped the bartender was too distracted with the other customers to notice what his idiot teammate was doing. “Bastard. Control freak. Nothing’s good enough for him. Not even his own fucking kids. We ran ourselves ragged just trying to get his approval. We never did. I was deemed worthless and my sister was just ignored.”
“Sounds like father of the year right there,” Grif joked, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.
“I don’t even know if he realized I left,” Simmons continued. “If he did, it would be because one of his assets is missing, not because his son ran away.”
“Forget about that fucker,” Grif suggested, pushing Simmons’s drink a little closer to him so he noticed it was still there. “He’s not getting near you again. Best part of being in the military is that you don’t have to deal with home bullshit anymore.”
“Because we’re going to die,” Simmons muttered sitting up to drink his beer.
“No, because they send you everywhere else except home. It’s pretty much the only perk.”
“They send us away to die.”
“Why are you so damn obsessed with dying for this military?” Grif demanded, having enough. “You almost sound like you want it to happen.”
“I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t,” Simmons murmured, gaze getting lost in the bottle in his hands. “Like if I get discharged, where would I go? I don’t have a home or anything. I’d be homeless. If I got medically discharged it would be even worse. And what if I get injured and it’s, like, a coma or some shit. Where I can’t make medical decisions for myself. What would happen then? They could just look at me and go ‘hey, this dude has no one to miss him. Pull the plug!’ Or maybe, just maybe, they’d somehow find my father and have him make those decisions, which I definitely wouldn’t want.”
“Because he’s controlling and you don’t want him to know where you are?” Grif asked. Simmons glanced at him briefly before looking back at the beer.
“Because he’s into some weird shit. Unethical experiments and stuff like that,” Simmons said quietly. “If he got a call tomorrow telling him his only son was in a coma, his first thoughts wouldn’t be about my wellbeing, it would be how he could use me to his benefit. I don’t want to be his experiment, Grif.”
Simmons glanced at him with an expression so pitiful that it pulled at his heartstrings. Grif didn’t even think he had a heart left for him to pull at. But he must have since those stupidly green eyes were playing it like a fiddle.
“Doesn’t marriage trump whatever hold a parent would have on that sort of thing?” Grif asked. He tried to take another drink from his beer only to notice it was now empty. Apparently, that’s what happens when you take a drink every time you hear something you don’t like when in a conversation like this.
“Does it look like I’m married?” Simmons said, glaring at Grif as the larger man helped himself to Simmons’s beer. “I’m a closeted gay man who can’t even have a conversation with a woman.”
Grif all but choked on Simmons’s beer upon hearing that. He hadn’t known the man was gay. Not because he was good at acting or anything, because now that he thought about it, he really wasn’t. He just never shown interest in anyone before. He was a very private individual, or at least he was when he wasn’t drunkenly proclaiming his sexual preference in a full bar.
“What would I even do?” Simmons continued, stealing back his beer as Grif stopped coughing. “Just go up to a random person and be like ‘hey, you want to get married so my bastard of a father doesn’t get the chance to use me for unethical experiments?’ I’m sure that will go over well with everyone. Face it, I’m better off dying for this fucked up war then getting out of it alive.”
“You could always marry me?”
Now it was Simmons’s turn to choke on the beer as Grif’s brain tried to catch up with his mouth. Did he seriously just ask him that? He’s known the guy for two months and he just suggested they get married.
Grif was definitely drunk if he thought that was a good idea.
“What the fuck?” Simmons demanded between coughs.
“You could marry me,” Grif reiterated. Part of his mind was screaming for him to stop but he quickly silenced it by downing the rest of Simmons’s beer. “It would solve all those problems, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought you were straight.”
“Nah, not straight. Not entirely gay either. Somewhere in the mirky middle grounds of ‘people are hot but pizza is hotter,” Grif said with a shrug. “It’s too much work to find a proper title past ‘not straight.’”
“But why?”
“Have you seen pizza? It’s one sexy bastard. And if it has the right toppings…” Grif zoned out for a moment, imagining the perfect pizza. “It’s making me hungry just thinking about it.”
“Why would you want to marry me?” Simmons reiterated, ignoring Grif’s pizza rant. “You’ve known me for two months. I’m a coward. And a kiss-ass. And…and…fucking useless as a person. Why would you want to marry me?!”
“Weren’t you listening? It would solve all those issues you have with eventually leaving the military,” Grif said, starting to count them off on his fingers. “Main one, you’d have an emergency contact and, oh what’s it called?”
“A health care proxy?”
“Yeah, I’d be one of those so your father couldn’t be. Plus, once we get discharged, we’d be able to pool our two shitty military pays together and probably afford a fairly decent apartment. With two bedrooms because I know how you love your privacy.”
“With you as a roommate, definitely,” Simmons muttered.
“Exactly,” Grif said with a smirk. He wasn’t sure if it was just the alcohol or what, but he was actually starting to like this idea. It was basically like having a legal roommate/friend, but with more benefits. “Oh, and there’s like tax benefits and shit for marrying, right?”
“I mean, yeah. Probably. I’d assume so.”
“There you go. Tax benefits.”
“What would you get out of this?” Simmons said after a moment, watching him suspiciously.
“The tax benefits? And a better apartment in the future,” Grif answered immediately. “And the added benefit of being able to tell my sister I’m married so she stops trying to hook me up with her friends.”
“I don’t do sex,” Simmons said flatly. Grif blinked. Right, that was usually a benefit, wasn’t it. “Like at all. So if you think this is an easy way to get a live in fuck buddy, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Does it look like I’d want to expend energy for something like that?” Grif said, raising an eyebrow. “I’d much rather have the tax benefits. And maybe a roommate that knows how to cook.”
“I burn water.”
“That doesn’t seem physically possible.”
“Tell that to my sister’s goldfish.”
“How…you know what? I don’t want to know,” Grif shook his head. “Are we getting hitched or what?”
Simmons was quiet for a few minutes, obviously conflicted as he stared back into his empty beer bottle.
“Are you serious?” Simmons whispered.
“I wouldn’t have asked three times if I wasn’t,” Grif replied. “Do you need me to ask a fourth?”
“It’s the middle of the night. And we’re being shipped out in the morning,” Simmons pointed out. “If we were going to do this, it would have to be now. Who would marry us this late at night?”
“Dude, we’re in the Vegas Quadrant,” Grif said, far too amused then he should be. “There’s so many twenty-four-hour marriage places it’s ridiculous. On this block alone, you have the choice between a priest, a judge, or Alien Elvis. Take your pick.”
“Didn’t that twenty-four-hour pizza shop have drop in wedding officiating?” Simmons asked, glancing back at Grif. “The one we passed on the way here. I think I read that you get a free pizza with any marriage they perform. We could go there.”
“I knew there’s a reason I’m marrying you,” Grif threw his arm across the other man’s shoulders with a grin.
“Yeah. It’s tax benefits,” Simmons said, allowing himself to be pulled off his stool and towards the door.
“I could marry anyone for tax benefits,” Grif leaned over, whispering conspiratorially in his ear, “I’m marrying you because you think getting married at a pizza shop for a free pizza is a great idea. Which it is. The fact that you’re cute also helps.”
Simmons sputtered complaints, his face turning even redder as Grif laughed. This was going to be great.
-
SIMMONS
Morning came early with the sound of the base’s recorded bugle wakeup call through the loudspeakers and their CO screaming in their ears. Grif and Simmons had scrambled through the morning routine, hiding their hangovers as they got suited up, collected their gear, and boarded the first pelican out of there. It wasn’t until they were well on the way to their next outpost that they were actually conscious enough to talk.
“I’m surprised we didn’t get caught,” Grif mumbled, his helmet off as he rubbed at his forehead.
“How didn’t we get caught?” Simmons questioned. He had his helmet off as well, hoping the fresh air would help calm his upset stomach. He really shouldn’t have drank so much last night. “We got fucking hammered. I don’t even remember getting back to base.”
“I’m pretty sure I paid off the guard with half a pizza,” Grif answered.
“I don’t remember getting a pizza,” Simmons muttered, trying to think through the fog that was last night. “I remember going to the bar. Drinking. Getting sad. Drinking more. Then we talked and I’m pretty sure I said some shit I shouldn’t have said.”
“Oh, you said a lot of that last night,” Grif pipped up. Simmons shot him a halfhearted glare and continued.
“And then…”
You could always marry me.
Simmons’s brain screeched to a halt. There’s no way Grif would have said something like that. Nope, no fucking way. That had to have been a dream. Or a hallucination. Or something like that.
“And then?” Grif prompted, getting Simmons’s attention once again.
“I must have passed out or something because I had a really…weird dream. Like really weird,” Simmons said, starting to ramble. “It was horribly inaccurate. You were very out of character. I-it’s not even worth mentioning at this point.”
“Did it involve me asking you to marry me? Because that wasn’t a dream,” Grif interrupted.
“WHAT?!” Simmons screeched, making both men wince at the sound.
“Too loud, man. Inside voices or some shit.”
“I just found out we got engaged in the Vegas Quadrant and you want me to use my inside voice?” Simmons hissed, dropping his volume regardless.
“We’re not engaged, Simmons.”
“Oh, thank fuck.”
“We’re married. Got the rings to prove it,” Grif said. Simmons could only gawk as Grif continued. “We would have had our marriage license too but you took a lighter to it less than an hour later. Said something alone the lines of ‘you won’t be able to return me without the fucking receipt.’”
“How much did we fucking drink?!” Simmons demanded.
“A few beers at the bar and then some more at the pizza shop. Possibly some harder liquor in-between. My count gets fuzzy about then.”
“When did we go to a pizza shop?”
“That’s where we got hitched. The chef did the ceremony and everything,” Grif said nonchalant. “We got a free pizza out of the deal. Half of which apparently went to the guard but hey, free pizza is free pizza.”
“This. This was a disaster,” Simmons said, getting out of his seat so he could pace around the hull. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do so while they were flying but fuck it. He needed to think. “I knew I never should have gone to the Vegas Quadrant with you. I just knew it.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Shut up,” Simmons snapped, running a hand through his hair to try and calm himself. It didn’t work. His memories of last night were coming back, slowly but surely. And there was certainly a pizzeria marriage among them. “This is a disaster.”
“You said that already.”
“It deserves to be said twice!” Simmons yelled. “Three times even! We got married! In Vegas! That is a disaster!”
“It would be a disaster if we got hitched for any reason other than tax benefits and health care proxy,” Grif said. Simmons sent him a confused look, prompting him to explain. “You were drunk enough to be vocal about all your problems, and I was drunk enough to forget how to not give a fuck. Which lead to me to ask you to marry me since that would solve all your issues. And honestly, I still stand by that decision.”
“We’ve known each other for two months! I don’t even think we like each other as people let alone as spouses!”
“We don’t have to,” Grif said with a shrug. “As long as this marriage keeps you out of your asshole of a father’s grasp and keeps me from having to go straight home upon being discharged, it’s fine.”
Simmons took a breath, pausing his pacing for the moment so he could sift through what Grif had said.
“Why don’t you want to go home?” Simmons asked after a minute or so of silence.
There was another long pause before Grif sighed and finally spoke.
“Because I’m tired,” Grif said. “No dad. Mom ran off to the circus. I’ve been taking care of my sister ever since she left. My sister’s old enough to take care of herself now, so I joined the military. I know it’s selfish but I’ve been her soul caretaker for ten years. Longer if you count the years my mom was physically present but not really doing anything. I’m just tired.
“Hoped by the time I was done I’d have enough for my own place. But the military pays peanuts and then takes half of those nuts for taxes and equipment and various other shit. The only way I’d be able to get a decent place after this is done is to have a roommate.”
“So, this marriage is just like a legal roommate thing for you. Nothing else?”
“No more than it is a built-in healthcare proxy for you,” Grif reassured. “If you really don’t want it, then we can always get a divorce later. It’s no big deal.”
Simmons sighed, taking his seat next to Grif once again.
“So…we’re married.”
“Yup.”
“For legal and logical reasons.”
“Yup.”
“Ok. I suppose that’s…alright. For now,” Simmons muttered, leaning back into the seat. “Just to see how things work out.”
“Glad you see it that way,” Grif said with a smirk. “Because I highly doubt we’d be able to find a divorce lawyer in the desert.”
“We’re not telling anyone at our new station about this,” Simmons declared, waving a finger at the other man.
“It’s none of their business anyways.” Grif shrugged.
“Right. None of their business.”
They sat in silence for a long time as Simmons processed what went down. He was married. To a man he had only known for two months. Sure, as they both said, it wasn’t like it was for regular marriage reasons. It was for tax benefits, and various other legal reasons. And it did end up solving a lot of his anxieties about various ‘after the military’ scenarios. Grif didn’t seem very upset about the whole arrangement either, which was good. It wouldn’t have been fair if Simmons was the only one getting something from this anyways. This could end up being an alright thing. Like not a horrible decision, if drunk decisions made in Vegas could ever be considered as such.
“Oh right,” Grif said, rummaging around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for. “I must have thought you’d try to destroy this too or something so I held onto it last night. Since you were in an arson mood and all. You can have it now though.”
Grif placed something small into his palm before settling back into his chair, obviously trying to nap.
Simmons looked at the item, a little surprised to find a small, bronze colored ring sitting there. It was a simple band, far too soft to be very sturdy considering it had already been bent inwards slightly to adjust the size. The outside had little arrow engravings around the whole thing that you wouldn’t realize were actually just pizza slices until you looked closer. The inside had words engraved around it but it took Simmons even longer to figure out what it said.
“Grif. Why the fuck do our wedding rings say ‘Good for one free pizza upon divorce’ on the inside?”
“It’s one of life’s great mysteries, isn’t it?”