Work Text:
If anyone asked, it was all Donut's fault. As a general rule as well as in this specific instance.
"So… how are you doing on your christmas shopping? I swear it's sooo difficult to find good artisanal soaps around here…", was what had started this whole mess.
"Huh? Why would I be shopping, that's months away", Simmons had said distractedly.
"What? No, silly, christmas is next week!", Donut had said. And checking the calendar on his HUD, Simmons had discovered, to is horror, that he'd been right.
Really, though, blaming Donut for this wasn't fair. Didn't mean Simmons wouldn't, but he was aware of how unfair it was. Because Simmons should've payed attention to the date himself, he was the anal retentive one, after all. But what with bringing down project Freelancer, crash landing on an alien planet, getting mixed up in a civil war, civil war turning out to be a big fat fake, being the target of a ruthless bunch of mercenaries, now… there was just a lot of stuff on his mind, okay? Can't keep track of every little detail all the time, okay?
——
"And it's not even going to be a white christmas!" Simmons complained, head down on the table. After three days of frantically trying to find gifts he'd had to finally admit that there was no way he was getting anything around here. At least nothing that he couldn't steal from the armory, and while that might satisfy Sarge, he didn't even have bows to put on the grenades.
Also putting bows on random weaponry to turn them into christmas presents was something he'd already done. Multiple times.
"So, who cares? White christmas sucks, anyway", Grif said, munching away on a snack cake of unknown origins.
"What?", Simmons shot up from his table floundering position with a scandalized shriek. "How can you say that? White christmas is the epitome of christmassy tradition."
"Nah."
"What, just 'nah'? That's not a proper argument. Christmas needs snow and that's final", Simmons declared. Then he wilted a little again, at the realization that with temperatures predicted for the mid seventy range for the entire next week in Armonia, he wouldn't actually get to experience that.
"It doesn't. I've only had one white christmas and it sucked, so there you go", Grif argued.
"What? You've only had one white christmas? That can't be right…"
"What did you expect? I grew up in Hawaii, There was no fucking snow or any kind of weather in Blood Gulch or Valhalla, so the only time I've seen snow at christmas was that fucking time when Command reassigned us to that stupid 'festive' base with the Blues. And remember, that sucked. So white christmas sucks, q.e.d and whatever."
"Well, it didn't suck that much… We made a fire together and spent some time in the christmas spirit, that was nice", Simmons argued.
"Not that nice. Couldn't feel my toes for like two weeks afterwards."
"Okay, but seriously, there was never snow when you were a kid?"
"Dude, it was Hawaii, if there's ever snow there, then whoever came up with Global Warming really missed the mark", Grif said, gulping down the last bit of snack cake. It looked disgusting, and Simmons really wished he could look away from the way Grif's throat was moving when he swallowed, but there was something oddly mesmerizing about it… Anyway, christmas stuff.
"So, basically you've never had a proper christmas?"
"What do you mean 'proper christmas'? My childhood christmas could kick your childhood christmas' ass any day", Grif bristled. "We had a christmas palm tree and everything."
"Christmas palm tree? That's terrible, you need a fir tree, or some kind of evergreen, at least."
"Dude, the palm trees don't loose their leaves, ergo, ever green."
"That's not how that works!", Simmons protested.
"Uh, yeah it is. Also christmas palm tree is way better than your stupid fir!"
"No, it isn't! And I bet they ship firs to Hawaii, you could've gotten one."
"Do I look like I'm made of money?"
"Well, you don't look like you're starving, at least."
"Yeah, because I prioritize. Who has money to waste on fancy trees when they could be spending that money on food, instead? But, even if I had the money, I wouldn't, because a christmas palm tree is just better."
"No it isn't", Simmons bristled. Mentally he tried to juxtapose the image of a palm tree with his own christmas memories and it could not clash any worse.
"Yes, it is, because think about it, Simmons, where do you put the presents?"
"Under the tree."
"Exactly. And where do you think you can fit more presents? Under a fir tree with its pathetic little stem or under a fucking palm tree that's like miles of air before there's any leaves", Grif explained in that tone he used when he was amazed by his own genius. Like when he'd tried to invent the invisible nap.
"Well, okay", Simmons grudgingly agreed, because he could sort of see it. "But that only works if you have enough money to afford presents."
It took him a moment after saying it to realize he might've royally stepped in it. That might've just been a tad too far.
"Yeah, whatever, I'll take my shitty palm tree with lots of room for potential presents over your passive aggression and traditional family values, any day."
Simmons probably would, too, if he were honest. Christmas with Grif, Kai and a shitty christmas palm tree was probably a whole lot less picturesque than what his family used to stage, but it would probably be a whole lot more fun. No sports equipment he hadn't asked for and had no use for because 'who asks for a book about advanced mathematics for christmas, christmas is for fun things'.
"Whatever", Simmons huffed, because while Grif was definitely right, he didn't feel like conceding the argument. "White christmas is still the quintessential christmas experience."
"Hate to break it to you, but do you really think there was snow when Jesus was born in the middle east in April?", Grif countered.
"So? He didn't have a palm tree either, so who cares?"
"Exactly, Simmons. You're getting it, now. Who cares? That's exactly the right way to look at it", Grif declared, and got up from their table, like he'd won the argument or something.
Well, the answer was clear. Simmons cared. He might not be able to get christmas presents for all of his team, but in that exact moment he made a decision.
He would give Grif a white christmas, and it would be awesome.
———
Okay, so maybe awesome was overselling it a bit.
"I'm fucking freezing", Grif lied, rubbing his arms for warmth as if that did anything through the armor.
"No you're not. The inside temperature of your armor is a toasty 24 degrees, just like it was when we left in Armonia", Simmons argued.
"24 degrees? That's lower than freezing! I'm dying!", Grif wailed dramatically. "Also how would you know how warm my armor is?"
"Celsius. I installed tracking software that shows me the condition of your armor on my HUD, because you never fucking bother taking care of yourself. I wanna be able to verify if your complaining is justified", Simmons explained.
Grif shot him a sidelong look and didn't say anything for a moment.
"What?", Simmons asked, suddenly feeling self conscious at the scrutiny.
"I can't make up my mind if I should call you nerd or stalker for that."
"W…what?", Simmons spluttered, "I'm not a stalker!" The crack in his voice made him sound very convincing if he did say so himself.
"Just keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night", Grif said with a shrug. "Piece of advice, though? Don't do that to your squad or you'll be drowning in harassment charges when it comes out."
"I don't do that to my squad, they're responsible adults who can take proper care of their equipment."
"Adults? Some of them are half my age!"
"Adultery is just as much about mental age as it is about physical age", Simmons declared sagely, until Grif started guffawing and he replayed the sentence in his head. He could feel the blush lighting up his face under the helmet. "Adulthood! I meant adulthood, you know I meant that!", he squeaked.
"Sure you did", Grif said in a tone that suggested he believed absolutely none of it.
"Shut up", Simmons huffed, crossing his arms. "Let's just get to patrolling the area." The mention of work made Grif stop laughing. He kicked at the snow on the ground.
"Why did Kimball even schedule us for this stupid mission? Couldn't have picked anyone else to survey the fucking snowy mountain? This is bullshit", Grif grumbled, looking sulkily at the floor. Ignoring the absolutely stunning scenery. The air was crisp and cold and the view from their landing spot was simply gorgeous, snowy mountain ranges as far as he could see. There was even some sunlight, making the snow glitter wherever it hit. If not for the whole civil war, and now war against an evil corporation this would make a lovely tourist attraction.
"Well, it's pretty, though. You know, all the white… not the worst mission to be assigned on around christmas", Simmons said. Grif looked up at him, and even through both of their helmets he could tell that he was seeing straight through all his bullshit. Simmons had a remarkable ability to not have any poker face to speak of even with no visible expression.
"You did this!" The betrayal in Grif's voice stung, even though he hadn't betrayed him at all. He'd tried to do something nice for his teammate, dammit. "With your 'white christmas' delusion."
"So? It's a really nice scenery and you would know if you bothered to pay attention to anything but your boots like a sulky teenager for two seconds", Simmons defended himself. "You said you didn't have a nice white christmas, so challenge accepted, now you get one."
"Oh yeah, amazing job Simmons, crawling around a snowy mountain looking for evil space pirates who want to shoot our faces off, the christmas spirit is practically oozing from the air", Grif complained.
"Well it was the best I could do under the circumstances!"
"You know what, Simmons? Your 'best' fucking sucks." Grif grabbed his rifle and marched off to where the rest of their squad was already working on their objective.
"Yeah, I know", Simmons said to the empty air, even if no one was listening to him anymore. Not the first time he'd heard that.
———
The amount of christmas spirit in the air mostly went downhill from there. Grif threw himself into their task with surprising vigor. By which Simmons meant, he trudged along half heartedly looking around the area for enemies. But that was incredibly motivated by Grif's standards, so.
The weather had decided not to bother with the niceties, anymore, either, and in just two hours the sky had moved from blue and gorgeous to overcast and dreary. Not that he was officially allowed to call anything that was blue gorgeous, Sarge would throw a fit, but it had been very nice.
And Simmons was starting to feel cold, too. Which was completely ridiculous, his armor was well sealed and held a toasty 24°C as well, but seeing all the snow that was starting to be blown around by the wind that was picking up made him feel cold on the inside. Or maybe it was Grif's categorical rejection of his attempts at having a nice christmas that was doing that.
Needless to say Simmons wasn't all that into their boring mission himself. The longer the silence between him and Grif lasted and the worse the weather got, the more he he thought that finding enemies and getting shot might actually improve his day.
That was the kind of thought the universe liked punishing people for.
Not with space pirates, sadly, because that would probably have been a whole lot easier to handle than a fucking snowstorm.
"This is your fault", Grif said when one of their recruits faceplanted on the snow that was moving from picturesque to dangerous more and more quickly.
"Not really, they would've gone on this mission anyway, even if I hadn't volunteered us for it", Simmons denied. "It's only my fault you're here to see it."
"That's bad enough", Grif grumbled. "Also? There's no fucking space pirates on this shitty mountain, so can we leave already?"
Simmons was actually in charge of the mission. Not because he was the highest ranking member of the team, he and Grif were the same rank, but because he was the highest ranking member of the team who actually gave a shit. But if Grif were to order them to go home, they probably would, so Simmons felt it was oddly respectful that Grif was sort of asking for his opinion on the matter before actually deciding.
"Well, we've covered most of the sectors…", Simmons mused. "But I don't think Kimball would be happy if we came back with just one sector unexplored."
"So report to Doyle instead. You can just intimidate him into not mentioning anything. I mean… most people could. Probably not you."
"Hey, it's not my fault I get nervous around authority figures! That's actually a perfectly normal thing people do", Simmons complained. "Let's just get the last sector done and then we can leave."
"Fine. You know you're making your life way more difficult than it needs to be by being such a pushover, right? If you always do everything authority figures wan you to to, they know that you're good at doing stuff and then they make you do more stuff."
"I know, you've told me about a billion times", Simmons sighed. Not that Grif was entirely wrong, but he wasn't entirely right, either, because not doing work also meant that the work didn't get done and it needed to be done. That was the entire point of work.
Grif actually lead the way to the last sector, so Simmons followed him, meanwhile instructing the rest of the troops to pack up and ready the Pelican for their imminent departure. They sounded just as relieved to be leaving soon as Grif did. So much for christmas spirit in the snow.
Speaking of snow, it had started snowing a while back, but just a few little flakes here and there, but it was picking up now, coupled with a vicious wind that made it hard for Simmons to see where he was going. Romantic depictions of white christmas rarely featured the nasty reality of snowfall that was getting closer and closer to the snowstorm category. He was just about ready to admit that maybe this christmas trip/mission hadn't been his brightest idea. Admit it to himself at least, he certainly wouldn't be saying anything of the sort to Grif.
Grif was actually advancing through the snow a lot quicker than Simmons was. Probably an advantage of his weight, the wind resistance slowed him down less.
Simmons was scrambling to catch up, when he noticed that the ground beneath his feet seemed a bit less… solid. "Grif! I think…" he called out, but then the ground was really shifting, and he was too busy trying to get his balance back to finish the sentence.
Avalanche, he thought. Fuck.
A smarter move would probably have been to try to run back the way he'd come, where the snow hadn't been moving, but he couldn't think of anything but the feeling of Grif's hand slipping through his fingers back when they'd thought the Meta. Not again. He lunged toward his teammate and actually managed to catch his arm before they both started sliding down the mountain.
It only occurred to him then, that holding on to Grif when he didn't have a secure footing himself wasn't actually all that helpful.
But he didn't let go.
———
Simmons awoke to a mouthful of snow. Which was inconvenient for breathing purposes, so he spat it out. He gulped in a few mouthfuls of air before he realized that he wasn't supposed to have snow in his face at all, wearing space worthy biomechanical amor and all… His eyes focused on the glass shards that were left of his visor in front of his face.
Okay, so no space walking for the immediate future.
Now that he wasn't insulated from the outside world anymore, he realized almost instantly that it really was just as fucking cold as it had looked all day.
There was more snow in his helmet, so he took it off and shook it out. Apart from the visor that was loosing more pieces as he got rid of the snow it wasn't damaged too badly.
While he was doing that, he spotted Grif sitting a few paces away, his hand to his helmet radio. Simmons helf up his own helmet to see if he could hear anything, but the radio was only buzzing some quiet static. Looked like the radio was busted, too.
"Dammit", Grif said, and punched the snow.
"Everything okay?", Simmons asked.
"What do you think? We slid down half the mountain with that stupid avalanche and now the weather is too bad to pick us up from here. They said they can pick us up tomorrow morning." He paused, looking at something on his HUD, before letting our a somewhat bitter sounding laugh. "Oh ha ha, very helpful."
"What is it?"
"Apparently there's some abandoned hut not too far from here that they say we can sleep in. Fucking beautiful. With our luck, I bet it's full of mercs."
"That… would be bad", Simmons said. But still, the idea of a roof over their heads to keep out the dreadful cold that was creeping in on him sounded pretty appealing. His helmet wasn't the only part that had taken a beating in their descent. There was a hole in his survival suit somewhere and it was really letting in all of the frost.
"No shit. Look at you, with your broken fucking helmet, they'd blow your head off instantly."
"Yeah… but I still think it might be a good idea to go. Unless you wanna… stay here?" It wasn't exactly a question. Simmons couldn't really imagine a scenario in which Grif would want to keep hanging around this random overhang of mountain they'd landed on that had apparently saved their lives. As he got up, Simmons chanced a look over the edge of where they'd landed. The drop was really steep. If the avalanche had carried him further he'd probably be a maroon pancake somewhere much further down.
"Let's go", Grif grumbled, getting up from where he was sitting. "You know, this is all… are you hurt?" He looked Simmons up and down. Looked like Grif's armor had dealt with the whole sliding down the mountain thing a a whole lot better than his.
"No, my armor's just messed up", Simmons said as he was finally done with shaking out his helmet and put it back on. "Are you?"
"No, I'm fine." Simmons really would've loved to verify that with his tracking software, but with most of his visor missing there was no chance of activating his HUD either. Grif didn't look entirely convinced, but then he shrugged and started walking.
"It's that way."
Simmons followed without a further comment. It really was his fault they were in this situation now, and he expected Grif to point it out again, but to his surprise no such comment came. He moved his hands inside his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fist to try and keep up the circulation, but it didn't help much. Not to mention his ears were starting to hurt from the cold. With his HUD gone he couldn't check the outside temperature, but he had a feeling it was somewhere in the low 'minus fuck you' category.
Not too far from here turned out to be not particularly close at all. They walked in silence, following the directions Grif had on his HUD and Simmons had to really restrain himself from asking: Are we there yet. He didn't, of course, but not knowing where they were going or how long it was taking was making him feel really helpless. He may have been a teeny tiny bit of a control freak about such matters.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief when the small house finally came into view. The breath clouded what was left of his visor.
Despite his earlier misgivings, Grif marched right into the house without so much as checking for enemy activity. There was a brief moment where Simmons' heart stopped in anticipation of the gunfire that would kill his teammate, but it turned out nothing happened.
The inside of the hut wasn't much warmer than the outside, probably not actually warmer at all, but at least the roof was solid and there was no snow inside. There was a small fireplace, but no sign of any firewood or anything to light it with, A small table with two chairs, and two twin beds.
"Gonna check if there's wood anywhere", Grif announced and walked right out of the house's single room again. There was one cupboard that didn't look all that stable, which upon checking housed one additional ratty blanket, bringing their total up to three counting the ones that were already on the bed.
"Nothing", Grif announced when he came back in.
Simmons tried not to let his disappointment shine through when he said, "Well, it's warm in your armor, right? I'll just get under the blankets, it'll be fine." Maybe, at least. He wasn't too sure if it was reasonable to assume that he'd wake up with the same amount of toes that he was going to bed with.
"No, that's dumb, we need to share body heat", Grif said, and took his helmet off at the same time.
Simmons brain short circuited a bit. A lot. Hey, he was a cyborg, it's allowed, okay?
"Wh…what?", he stuttered.
"Go on, get naked you prude", Grif said as he unlatched his chest piece.
"Whaaat?"
"Armor. Off. Bed. In", Grif enunciated slowly. Simmons gaped at him some more, until Grif rolled his eyes and went over to Simmons and unlatched his shoulder pads.
That shocked him into action and he took off his own armor in a time that probably would've made Tucker proud.
"The under suit, too, you can't share body heat through Kevlar", Grif instructed as he unlatched his own. Simmons turned around as the material unknit from Grif's surprisingly nice to look at dark skin. Not that it was actually surprising, Simmons had stopped himself from looking at it enough to be hauntingly familiar with how attractive it looked.
No, don't think about Grif being attractive in any way before climbing into bed with him. Oh, this could only end in disaster. He got out of his own undersuit as quickly as possible and discovered its hole at his left side. He scrambled to get into the bed as quickly as possible when the cold air hit him in the loose clothes he had under his armor. Technically the armor was designed not to have any clothes worn underneath at all, but Simmons had never been more glad that this was one of the few regulations he regularly disregarded.
He put the shitty blanket over himself, which wasn't really that helpful because it was cold itself, but still. Better than nothing. The weight of the other two blankets hit him and Simmons looked up at Grif who was spreading them over him, which was a whole lot nicer than he felt he deserved after all the shit he'd caused.
Then the blankets lifted… He wasn't sure if he actually blushed any more than he'd been doing anyway because of the cold, but oh boy. Ooooh boy.
Grif draped himself over Simmons like an amoeba. Big and shapeless and oh so warm, and Simmons felt like his sanity was melting out of his head via his ears. Here he was, in bed, with Grif. This really wasn't how he'd imagined that happening. Not that he had. Imagined that. At all. Apart from maybe once of twice. Or fifteen… hundred times… No, never, not at all, he hadn't spent the better part of a decade pining after his fat teammate, shut up.
But aside from all the gay crises he'd weathered because of Grif before, he really felt like this was too nice. He didn't really deserve Grif doing something like this, which was undoubtedly awkward for him to, when he was solely responsible for ruining this day.
"You… don't have to do this", Simmons ventured. Maybe Grif was just waiting for someone to offer him an out. Grif just gave a hum as the answer. A… contented hum? What? Simmons was probably misinterpreting that because he was so flustered.
But something about that hum made Simmons feel warm. Okay, not warm exactly, his toes still felt like they might fall off at any moment, but inside. Despite how much had gone wrong to get them into this situation, being here felt… right, somehow. Snow storm outside, a big blob of man haphazardly lying half next to half on top of him…
He was in love with Grif.
Fuck.
He'd been running from that simple realization for a very long time, but right here, right now, there was nowhere to run to. And suddenly he felt really bad about the whole situation. Here Grif was, being all nice and supportive with this supportive cuddle between two people who were cold, and here he was, head over heels in love with him. Like he'd gotten this whole thing going under false pretenses.
He had to say something. Saying something was a terrible idea, it could only ruin everything, but he had to. Anything else would be lying by omission and taking advantage of Grif.
"Uh…" Okay, he had no idea how to say anything, though.
"What?"
"Are you straight?", he blurted out. Great job, Simmons, as if that in any way communicates what you're trying to say.
"Huh? The fuck are you asking that for, now?"
"Sorry… uh… it's just… I might not be", he admitted. Smooth. He brazed himself for the cold that was sure to follow, when Grif realized what he was saying and left for the other bed, cold be damned.
The cold didn't come.
Maybe Grif hadn't understood what Simmons was saying here. He needed to be more clear, even if the thought of ruining this moment was tearing at his heart. "I think I like you. Like, like you, like you." Now the cold was sure to come.
It didn't. Instead, Simmons felt the hairs on the back of his neck ruffling at Grif's snort of laughter.
"So, you like me, like me. Are you gonna pass me a note next 'do you like me like, too? Check yes no, or maybe'?"
"I… I'm being serious!", Simmons protested. Laughing was a marginally better response than disgust, but now that he'd finally said it he wasn't really happy with having his feelings brushed off as a joke, either.
"I know", Grif said. His tone sounded like he was smiling, but Simmons was mostly facing the wall so he couldn't see. The arm that had been laying loosely across his side suddenly tightened around his waist, pulling him closer to Grif. Like a real hug. "I like you, like you, too, nerd."
Simmons froze. Blinked at the wall a few times. Had to turn around because whoa?
"Wait, what? Really?", he asked, looking at Grif's face. There wasn't that much light in the cabin, but he could see the fond smile. He felt like Grif had just pulled the floor out from underneath him, turned the world upside down and now he was in free fall.
Except he wasn't falling, because Grif was still holding him and he was right there with him.
"Yep", Grif said, like it wasn't a big deal, but he sounded a little less steady now that Simmons was facing him.
"Like, for real? Like, in a gay way? Like, if I tried to kiss you now, you wouldn't punch me?"
Grif looked a little bit like he was trying not to laugh at Simmons. "Guess you could try and find out." Well that wasn't as helpful as a straight yes would've been, but the conversation had left the territory of 'straight' anything a while ago.
He really hoped this wasn't some sort of prank. Or that he actually would get punched. But now that the challenge had been spoken, he needed to find out. He slowly inched closer to Grif's face, searching his expression for any sign that he was about to commit a terrible mistake. But there was none.
There was about three inches separating their mouths when Simmons realized he didn't really know what he was doing. "Uh… I don't really know how this goes", he said. Oh great, setting himself up for some virgin jokes, but he didn't want to mess this up.
Grif rolled his eyes, but thankfully didn't say anything. Instead he moved forward, and closed the gap between their faces.
It started out a bit awkward, because Simmons really didn't know what to do, but he experimented a bit with moving his lips against Grif's and while he wasn't exactly a natural, it was nice. He was actually kissing Grif and that was probably the most mind blowing thing ever.
Their mouths stayed closed for the moment, but Simmons still felt out of breath when Grif pulled away.
"So… what does this mean, are you my boyfriend, now, is this just cause we're in a snow storm…" a calloused finger on his mouth stopped him from talking.
"Merry Christmas, Simmons."
"Merry Christmas, Grif."