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To say that today wouldn't be the second single most important day in Simmons' life would without a doubt be factually incorrect. He'd be almost tempted to demand the formula that could have possibly been used to get such a wrong answer, and then ream the idiot who dared to think that they were right.
Nothing could go wrong. He had spent at least two months, three weeks, one day, and half an hour planning to the most minute detail how today would go. Two expected outcomes, one more desirable than the other.
The only thing that he had to do to avoid complete and utter failure was avoiding the raging idiots that he just so happened to consider family.
Waking up his plan was already set in motion. He had oiled and tuned his prosthetics so that they were in tip-top shape the previous night just so he wouldn't have to waste precious time on that today. Because he couldn't have his leg locking up on him- not tonight.
So his cybernetics were of no concern and he quickly jumped in the shower before someone beat him to it. Now, Simmons was always a very hygienic person unlike other people he knew, but today he took extra time putting some product into his hair and grooming himself for an extra fifteen minutes or so. Once his hair was perfect because he wouldn't accept anything less, and he was dry and in day clothes he braved putting on make-up for one of the first times in his life. And he genuinely wanted to do it right, so much so that he had swallowed his nerves and asked Jensen and her girlfriend to give him the most informational guide that they could. They were beyond delighted to help him out and while he felt overwhelmed he made a point to take more than enough notes.
Applying it on his own, however, Simmons makes sure he is meticulous. There was just so much to remember and do it in the order it's supposed to be applied. He's not doing anything crazy, he just wants to make sure that all of his blemishes are gone and out of the picture. Foundation sits heavy on his skin but he sucks it up and moves on to focusing on his eyes. Natural palette's for the eye shadow and a brown eyeliner crayon. Just something to accentuate his eyes. That's all.
He leaves his lips alone though. They were pink enough already and the only colors that Jensen offered were too saturated and would bring too much attention to his lips when that's the last thing he wants.
Simmons double checks and then he triple checks it because he made sure to leave enough time in his schedule for it, before deeming it acceptable and he leaves the bathroom, scurrying to his room.
He doesn't plan to get into his suit until at least five in the afternoon. His morning had been eaten up by prepping his body- well, more so prepping his head than anything else- and the rest is dedicated to eating a light breakfast. It would just be like him to eat something heavy, allow his nerves to consume him later in the day when he needs them gone most, and upset his stomach so bad that he throws up. Which wouldn't be ideal during a dinner. So a light breakfast it is.
After breakfast, he has plans to meet up with Bitters by his apartment. He had tasked the former lieutenant with something very important, only because Bitters had promised him that he could get Simmons an amazing deal since he personally knew the seller. But that wasn't until one.
The rest of the time would be spent assuring that his reservation was in fact for seven tonight. He had to guarantee that there were no mix-ups whatsoever. Simmons would not be embarrassed- not on this extremely important day. After he called and had vocal affirmation that the balcony table he had requested was his and his alone that he would mentally prepare himself for the rest of the day.
Because if he had to meet up with Bitters at one then he had to leave at twelve, just to ensure that his transit time was no more than thirty minutes with breathing room in case anything happens to block traffic. And to leave at twelve he just had to avoid the other Reds and Blues, which meant he should leave at least a quarter before.
He should have known that he wouldn't make it out without running into someone but thankfully it wasn't one of the more annoying SIM Troopers.
On the other hand, it was the most enthusiastic one of the bunch. One even more excited than Simmons.
Donut had sparkles in his eyes that Simmons hadn't seen in a very long while, but that didn't distract from the fact that he had a very strict schedule that he was meant to follow and he wouldn't let anyone deter him from a single second of it. So he kept walking, but Donut followed after him like an excited puppy lapping at his heels.
"Simmons, are you absolutely positive that you don't need any help? Like any help whatsoever?" Donut prodded, hands waving in joy. "Because-"
"No, thank you, I'm fine," Simmons grit. He shrugged on his coat because it was starting to get a little chilly out on Chorus so it was necessary because he wasn't going to come down with a cold tonight.
Donut tried again, "Well, what about-"
"I've got it covered, thanks again," Simmons stopped him in his tracks.
The other former soldier pursed his lips before sighing and placing his hands on his hips and he mourned, "Can I at least help with the-"
"Yes, I already told you years ago, that you would have full control over it," Simmons reminded as he finished slipping on his sneakers. Of course, that would only happen if the positive outcome was achieved.
Donut was instantly mollified by the verbal confirmation and he reached forward to give him a rough shake on his shoulders, whispering, "Good luck!"
"Thanks," he says because he needs it. Simmons would gladly claim all of the positive energy he could get.
Arriving at Bitters apartment goes expertly as planned, which gives him hope for later this evening. A sleepy Matthews is the one who answers the door, and while he's groggy at first he quickly brightens up with a squeal and hobbles over to Bitters to inform him of the Captain’s appearance before wandering off to grab his cane.
Standing in front of Bitters, a small rock lodges itself in Simmons' throat somehow, and he struggles to get out, "Can- can I see it?"
"Of course," Bitters hands over the small box, and Simmons just stares at it for a while, as if not believing that it was real at all.
He had picked out something very specific, and Bitters had promised him that he would get exactly that and would get something even better too. Simmons didn't mind because the exterior wasn't nearly as important as the interior. The interior mattered the most.
Bitters cleared his throat and shifted to the side, clearly uncomfortable and Simmons was sure that it was because he hadn't opened the box yet, but then he spoke, "So... like I don't think I'm supposed to be the one doing this, but- you know- as a police officer I know all the best places to hide bodies... so... yeah."
It was weak, but Simmons felt his heart fill with joy because he understood the intent behind the statement and he gave the younger man- and wasn't it crazy to think of the former teen in front of him as a young man now- a reassuring smile, "Heard you loud and clear."
"Good, good," he cleared his throat again before sniffling. "So like, are you actually gonna open it or...?"
Right, the box. Deciding to peel it off like a band-aid, Simmons opened it and let out a small, breathy exhale of pure relief. Because it was even more perfect than he imagined.
Leaving Bitters apartment he acted like he was carrying the most precious item imaginable- because he was. He only relaxes his guard once he's safely behind his bedroom door.
Ring secure, and an hour passed, he has at least three more hours to relax in anxiousness. He's sure that no one will bother him, possibly in fear that he'd bite their heads off on instinct.
By five he is already in his three-piece suit, box firmly in his pants pocket. Two more hours until their reservation. He waits approximately twenty minutes before getting the most essential person for his plan today.
At five-thirty he knocks on Grif's door and the other man opens it, comb still halfway through his hair as he waves Simmons in. "Give me at least five more minutes and then we can go. You're lucky I know how much you pre-prepare for things because otherwise, I would be napping right now."
Simmons knows, and that's exactly why he accounted for this in his schedule.
"Alright, ready," Grif settles the comb down on his bed stand and walks with Simmons out of the room.
Comparatively, Grif is completely underdressed when standing beside Simmons. He's wearing a button-down dress shirt and a clean pair of slacks. When compared to Simmons' pressed suit, it looks as if Grif doesn't care about the date they're about to go on.
But that's only to people who don't actually know him. The people that know Grif- intimately know him- can instantly recognize that his hair is washed for once, and it's combed. The shirt is bereft of stains and the pants are unwrinkled. This is Grif at his best- this is Grif at giving the most amount of damns that he possibly could.
This, and not this alone because Simmons could make a three-hour presentation given the chance, is why he is so desperately in love with him. Why he craves Grif more than he's ever craved anything else in his entire life. It's why Simmons wakes up every morning and thinks that the world is worth saving because Grif is in it and why Simmons would go through all of their harrowing adventures over and over again if it meant that he could stay by Grif's side day and night until eternity ends and beyond even that.
There exists only one substantial and irrefutable truth- there is no Simmons without Grif and no Grif without Simmons.
His pocket weighs heavy on his body.
The two of them make ample small talk as they head towards the restaurant. It's a rather new and very expensive one and Simmons had made the reservation months in advance just so that he could secure it on this specific day. The décor is full of nautical and seaside inspiration, lights creating an ambiance of soothing blue- partly why he wanted none of the Reds and Blues to have any part of this plan, he didn't need to restart an entire fake war again- and the atmosphere is calm and quiet, exactly what Simmons was hoping for.
A host guides them to the indoor balcony table, a small alcove that overlooks the entire city and has small fairy lights looping across the rafters. They are the only two people in this section, and it's private so no one would intrude upon them at all tonight.
The dinner is delicious, and the restaurant is certainly deserving of its high praise. Throughout the meal, Grif jokes openly with him, but his eyes are on the lookout every time the waiter passes by them or they lock onto Simmons whenever he shifts in his seat.
He knows. He knows and he's expecting it.
And instead of getting scared or more anxious, Simmons relaxes and feels any lingering worries evaporate into the air. His pocket doesn't hang too heavy on him anymore, in fact, it feels lighter than air, and he has to constantly check if the box is still there in case it floats off into the atmosphere.
Even though nearly an hour passes, Simmons feels as though they had only just started the date, but they're finishing their dessert plates, and there are only two more steps left in his schedule- the one that he had spent and poured so much time into, the one that ends in one of two outcomes.
Rising out of his seat, Grif looking him straight in the eyes, Simmons lowers himself to the floor- finding no problems with his mechanic joints because had made sure they would be fine for this moment right here.
"Grif," he starts, and even though no one is paying attention to them, so far removed from the rest of the restaurant, it feels as though the world has gone silent. Only two people exist at this moment, just Grif and Simmons. "Dexter."
Simmons pulls out the small box, and opens it, revealing an engagement band decorated with a finely cut carnelian gem. It's not a diamond, not because Simmons couldn't afford it, but because Bitters knew that the price of the gem wasn't what mattered. What mattered was the bond between maroon and orange and went with the gem that would embody that union. But the inside was what mattered the most.
"I have never been more grateful than being able to spend all of these years with you, by your side. And even more grateful that you chose me out of anybody else to spend your life with. So early on, I asked you a question, and I think I found my answer right here in this box," his eyes fill with tears as memories play by on a fast-tracked movie reel. "Would you do me the honor of letting me marry you?"
Grif gets out of his own seat and settles on the floor right next to Simmons, shaky hands reaching out to cup the sides of his face.
"Dick, it should be me asking if you would give me the honor of marrying you," Grif gives him a smile wetted with the tears spilling from his eyes. "And was there any other answer than yes."
Leaping forward, he angles the box safely out of the way and kisses Grif more passionately than ever before.
And when they're done with their sappy rom-com moment, as Grif would huff in good nature, his fiancé would pull the ring out of the box and finally see the inside.
'Here to remain forever yours.'