Chapter Text
Brisk winter air stung at Simmons's lungs as he ran, begging any god who would listen to free him from running another lap.
The sun painted the dirt and mottled grass with shades of red and orange, betraying the freezing chill outside and the crisp crunch of frost condensing and melting under every slam of his stinging feet upon the alien earth.
"I'M NOT WAITING ALL DAY, SIMMONS!" Sergeant Daniels shouted, voice carrying over the wind.
"Sir--" he gasped, "Yes suh-sir!"
He was embarrassed out of his goddamned mind. Running the numbers in his head, he was at least four minutes behind the rest of the class- who were already marching off to evening drills and the mess hall.
Fuck basic training.
Glancing upward to avoid running off the track, his eyes caught on to a rather large someone up ahead (and technically, three laps behind). In fact, the only other person left on the track besides himself.
He rolled his eyes and allowed his gasp to become a quiet verbal scoff. He'd seen this guy around.
They were half a mile out in the dead grass of the track fields when Daniel's distant voice rang out, "AND HURRY THE FUCK UP PRIVATE GRIF, THIS ISN'T ELEMENTARY."
Simmons tried his best to look put together (and at least sort of cool and serious) as he passed by the man walking at an appallingly slow pace. Refusing to make eye contact, he picked up his own pace with the last of his ability to do so, attempting to stifle his blatant wheezing.
His very, very blatant wheezing.
Ten feet in front of Private Grif and he had to stop. He couldn't do it. His legs shook as he rested his hands on his knees, bending himself forward and borderline hyperventilating. His frame shook as he hacked with painful coughs.
"All right!" Sergeant Daniels called out, "That's as long as I'm gonna wait! You boys have fun finishing that lap plus three extra!"
"Hey!" Grif shouted. "How are we gonna get dinner?"
There was a beat where Simmons could imagine Daniels's perturbing 'Did I fucking stutter' stare of death before she called out "FOUR LAPS."
Simmons tried to get a hold of his breathing, shame washing over him in waves as he heard Grif slowly catching up to him. He slowed down as he caught up to Simmons, which only added an extra twelve layers of embarrassment to his predicament. His breathing started hitching painfully.
"Uh... you okay?" Private Grif didn't exactly sound concerned as much as awkwardly obliged to ask.
Simmons frustration flared inside him. He garnered every ounce of stubbornness and sarcasm he had left to look up at the stout Hawaiian man and drawl between shutters of breath, "Obviously."
His acquaintance looked split between the mildest twist of surprise and irritation. "Damn, sorry for asking. Don't take it out on me. You're the one torturing yourself here."
Stretching his aching back, he glared out toward the setting sun. "We're SUPPOSED to be doing this," Simmons said in a raspy wheeze. "At least I'm giving an effort."
Grif rolled his eyes and continued walking. "Yeah, okay, looks like it's going great for you."
Simmons gave himself another minute before he started running again, despite everything in his thin weary body begging him not to. He passed Grif again as the sun dipped over the trees. At the end of the second mile lap, Simmons collapsed.
When he returned from the murky fog of his mind, he could see his lazy acquaintance holding out a water.
Grif stood over him as he drank, not pausing for breath. Eventually he flopped down next to Simmons's shaking form with a heaving sigh.
Simmons's mind reeled into consciousness at the display of apparent exhaustion.
"What are you so tired from?" He said after the last drip of water had been drained from the bottle, voice still raspy and constricted.
Grif scoffed, half turning to look at Simmons. His eyes glinted with another complicated mix of surprise, faux offense, and blatant amusement. "And to think kiss-asses didn't have a backbone, Jesus! How many times did you get your undies tied to the flag pole for the sass?"
Simmons tensed, face burning red, sputtering. "I'm not- I- I didn't-"
Smirking, Grif raised his hand in a stop motion sign. "Relax dude, don't give yourself a hernia."
"Fuck off!" Simmons snapped, remembering how to use words to express meaning. "Like I haven't had fatasses like you making fun of me for giving a shit about literally anything before. What the fuck does it matter to you?"
He had obviously put a damper on Grif's amusement as the glint left his eyes; something Simmons wouldn't admit to regret missing in the heat of the moment. "Damn man, I don't know, boredom? Curiosity? Besides that, it's not like you didn't just fucking collapse from exhaustion. Your welcome for the water."
Simmons opened his mouth again, then snapped it shut. His face was suddenly burning for an entirely different reason. It occurred to him that he may have been at least as much of a jerk as his acquaintance.
There lingered an awkward silence.
"Oh. Yeah. Thanks."
Grif snorted. "No problem, asshole."
Simmons floundered for a moment before snapping his mouth shut again. He earned that one. Honestly, "asshole" was probably going easy on him. In all likelihood, Private Grif's excessive apathy was probably the only thing stopping him from giving Simmons a pummeling. Simmons had said far less and gotten far worse for his quick mouth and bursts of anger.
In a dramatic gesture of exhaustion, Grif laid back and sighed extensively. "S'not like I had to walk halfway across base for it or anything after all that agonizing exercise."
Simmons scoffed in return, accompanied by the most incremental tug of his frown into a smirk. Not only was this guy forgiving, he was almost friendly. Almost.
They sat in a strangely comfortable silence that Simmons knew should not be comfortable at all. But he still hadn't quite caught his breath, his legs were still burning, and the lazy snark next to him was being...well, annoying, but not a total piece of shit like most everyone else. Moreso, Simmons didn't have to suck up to this guy. Which was good, because he didn't want to.
So, for the moment, sitting in the dirt and an encroaching darkness with nearly a complete stranger was the most comfortable Simmons had felt in a long time. It was weird, to say the least. Simmons spaced out watching the line of fire over the horizon as Grif took a chocolate bar out from his pocket and peeled the wrapping.
"But sheriously," Grif said with a mouth-full, jolting Simmons out of his train of thought. "Why thuh fuck are you working sho hard?"
Simmons ignored the voice in his head that had been answering that question for his entire life with "That's a damn good point" or "I don't know."
"Why the fuck aren't you trying at all?" Simmons snapped back instead. Then realized what Grif was holding. "And where the fuck did you find a chocolate bar in a military camp?!"
For the rest of basic they wouldn't shut the fuck up around each other. It sucked and they hated each other and everything was terrible.
(But it wasn't that bad, either.)