I'm just in the mood for some fluffy angst. Trying to get into character since my other story is starting to feel a bit forced. This particular drabble will be set shortly after Grif slipped between Simmons's fingers after fighting the meta. Standard stuff, I suppose. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER:

I own nothing but the plot and even that's sketchy.

Heart to Heart (oneshot)

Part One

He was running. There was bright light. His heart fluttered as his feet pounded against the ground. A familiar voice calling out. He felt like he was running through molasses. His lungs were on fire, but why was it so cold? He was diving forward in slow motion. Arms outstretched, grasping blindly at something so important. Something clutched his hand.

"Don't let go, don't let go!"

Mind numbing fear.

"Grif!"

Simmons awoke with a start, the words ringing in his ears. They were almost inaudible over his thundering heart, but he knew he would remember them forever.

He was on his side, clutching his pillow like it was a lifeline. His regulation sheets were tangled tightly around his legs. Confusion enveloped him. First, he didn't know where he was. Second, he was sweating like he ran six miles. Third, what time was it?

He pushed damp strands of hair off the back of his neck. As Simmons slowly came more fully awake, he realized that, duh, he was at base. A quick, purposeful blink of his cyborg eye dragged the time and temperature display into his field of vision. It told him it was 1:34 in the morning and he dimly registered he was in his own bunk. Why would he be anywhere else?

"Fuck," he mumbled, kicking his blankets straight.

The dream was already slipping away. As his heartbeat slowed down, Simmons remembered a flash of white and the sensation of holding something heavy. Then just a feeling of horror. A familiar feeling in the middle of the night lately.

Simmons swore again, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape.

The harder his sleep muddled mind tried to remember, the faster the details flitted away. That was a small bonus, at least.

It seemed he hadn't had a good night's sleep since they fought the Meta once and for all. He couldn't shake the image of Grif getting dragged off the face of the earth. The sound of his voice calling for him with what he'd thought was his dying breath would probably haunt him forever.

The cyborg rolled over and sat up to peel off his sweaty shirt. Feeling around for a dry corner, he rubbed it over his face, through his hair and tossed it on the floor.

Then, laying back down, he closed his eyes again. In the time he thought about pondering his dream, he had already fallen into a fitful sleep once more.

Part Two

The next morning, Simmons woke up early, feeling sluggish and off kilter. He'd tried to go back to sleep for a few blessed minutes but to no avail. He could feel how puffy his remaining human eye was without even touching it. And he had to have slept funny on his shoulder or something because there was a dull ache in it he couldn't stretch out.

He sat in the kitchen, poking at his toast and taking the odd sip of coffee here and there. The maroon soldier was dimly aware of movement further off down the hall, but paid it no attention. Simmons rested his cheek in his hand and let his eyes drift closed.

He didn't notice Grif until he spoke.

"Dude, you look rough," he commented, opening a cabinet.

Simmons twitched violently, spooking a "fuck's sake!" out of Grif. He blinked up at his friend. He had a hard time focusing his tired sight, but if he squinted, he thought he saw a hint of concern on Grif's face. The orange soldier snapped his fingers in front of Simmons.

"Uh, hello? Not like you to be… I dunno, not bright eyed and bushy tailed."

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Simmons replied, fighting a sudden yawn. "I just… I dunno… didn't sleep well, I guess."

"You okay?" Grif grunted, poring some coffee out into a mug.

"Some more caffeine and I'll be right as rain!" Simmons assured him.

Part Three

The day passed in a haze of drill times, vehicle repair and weapons maintenance ("for those dirty blues!"). No amount of caffeine could have helped Simmons through the day, though it wasn't for lack of trying. By the time the sun was setting, Simmons was dying for a meal and to get back to his bed,nightmare be damned.

He bolted down a quick dinner, something he later couldn't even remember.

Sarge insisted on posting watches tonight against the Blues. What were the Blues planning? He had no idea. At this point, it was almost laughable to post up against them. They were basically friends at this point, weren't they? Simmons felt that way, anyway. Sarge had an inkling that Agent Washington had some sort of agenda and that meant in a mere four hours, Simmons would be up on top of the goddamn base watching nothing.

Simmons began shucking off his maroon armor off before he'd even reached his room, depositing the pieces haphazardly in the corner for a change instead of neatly laying them out for the next morning. He dropped onto his bed face first with a sigh. He wasn't going to bother changing into civvies. He sighed again.

'Stupid watch duty,,' he thought.

Simmons shifted and yanked his blanket over himself. In a matter of minutes, the exhausted soldier was suddenly asleep.

Part Four

Simmons was immediately aware of a blinding white light. His legs were as heavy as lead. His hand were outstretched and he was grabbing at something just out of reach. The familiar horror filled his gut.

'Oh, no,' he though desperately, recognizing the scene.

"Grab my hand. Grab my hand!"

The pewter sky was dull and dark against the shiny orange helmet. Simmons looked at their hands clutching, slipping. His cyborg arm scrabbled uselessly in the powdery snow for a hold to yank them both back.

"Don't let go!"

Something jolted into him. The impact jarred their fragile hold loose. There was a swish. He was gone.

"Grif!"

"Simmoooons!"

Something hit him again.

"Simmons."

"Nooo!"

"Simmons! Wake up!"

"Grif!"

"Yeah, hi! Wake the fuck up! You're freaking me out!"

There was a hard thud to his shoulder and his bionic arm shot out to grab it. Simmons opened his eyes with a sharp gasp. Grif's mismatched face swam in front of him.

"Grif! You're here!"

Simmons pulled him into a panicked one armed embrace before he could think.

"Jesus, dude, finally! Yeah, its me. Whew," Grif huffed in relief, patting him on the back. "Of course I'm here."

They broke apart and Grif sat heavily on the bed next to a confused, obviously scared Simmons. He was coming to, but his robotic hand was still squeezing Grif's wrist too tightly. He willed his heart to slow the fuck down.

"Hey, can you…?" He asked motioned to his painful trigger hand.

"What?"

"Loosen up a little? Please?" Grif pointed to their hands.

"Huh? Oh!"

As if burned, Simmons snatched his hand back with a mumbled apology.

"Thanks."

They spent a few minutes in silence, while Simmons's mind woke up and caught up to the present.

"Sooo… what was that about?" Grif asked, already guessing the answer.

"Uhh, bad dream?" Simmons tried with a shakey smile.

Grif rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, sounded like it by the yelling. You wanna talk about it?"

Simmons sat back against the wall, untangling his blankets. He drew one knee up to his chest, the other stuck out in front of him. The black clad soldier closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His heart was still pumping in his ears from the adrenaline. Grif scooched back to sit next to him. Neither of them made any attempt to make eye contact.

"I've, uh… I mean --" Simmons cleared his throat awkwardly and tried again. He found a little steel reserve and started speaking. "Don't laugh, don't make fun, don't say a damned word, okay?"

Grif made the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die sign across his chest with another eye roll but kept his mouth shut.

Simmons ran his silver hand through his dark hair and braced himself. He could feel a flush creeping uncomfortably up his neck.

"I, uh, haven't been sleeping well since, you know, the Meta," he sighed, sneaking a look at Grif. "I keep replaying it in my head. What could we have done different? If I'd have been a little faster… maybe I could have grabbed you sooner and you wouldn't have fallen off a goddamn cliff and almost died. You would have, if you wouldn't have had the… ugh, Grifshot. My nightmare was that moment over and over again and I'm just not fast enough, or strong enough. You always fall."

Grif looked like he was about to burst. Simmons closed his eyes.

'Here comes the laughing,' he thought miserably.

"Can I talk now?" Grif's voice was serious.

When Simmons opened his eyes again, his friend was peering at him intently.

"Uh… yes…?"

"Okay, good. First, if you hadn't grabbed me, even for those few seconds, I would be dead. Like dead dead. Those few seconds gave me time to think of using the Grifshot as a grappling hook. Second, that was one scary fucking fight. All of us almost died. I mean shit, I thought that guy was gonna snap your friggin' leg off, the way he picked your teeny ass up and tossed you."

"Yeah, uh, well --"

"Oh! Like that dwarf. In that movie. Remember? Donut made us watch it."

"Ugh, I try to bare my soul and look what happens," Simmons chuckled, surprised.

"I'm just saying. It scared me too, man. We were in the middle of a seriously jacked up situation and it could have been any one of us. And then when you got whanged in the head and didn't get up, I thought…" Grif broke off with a shudder. "Look, I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon, do you? We live to fuck shit up another day. Like that wizard dude said, 'and that is an encouraging thought'. Right?"

"Right," Simmons agreed. "His name was Gandalf, by the way."

"Oh, my god, you nerd." Grif groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

"You were the one quoting Lord of the Rings!"

"It just sounded cool, shut up!" Grif smacked Simmons on the shoulder again and stood up. "Listen, I gotta go catch some z's before this stupid watch. Why are we even posting up against the Blues? Aren't we all, like, friends now or some shit?"

Simmons shrugged.

"Who knows. Sarge thinks Wash is planning something."

Grif eyed Simmons seriously.

"Are you okay now?" He asked, about to offer to stay.

Simmons nodded, genuinely feeling better now that they'd talked. It was like a weight had been lifted and he was suddenly exhausted. He gave his friend a tired smile.

"Yeah. Thanks," said Simmons, "I think I'm ready for some real sleep finally"

"Good deal. Come wake me up if you need me, got it?"

Grif clapped Simmons on the shoulder once more before turning towards the door.

"Got it… Gandalf,"

"Ugh, never gonna live that one down, am I?" Grif groused, but he sounded happier. "Get some rest."

"Good night, Grif."

"Good night, Simmons."

Part Five

The bright light, the biting cold, the pewter sky all came rushing back in detail.

"Oh, no."

"Simmons! Grab my hand!"

Simmons dove forward and snagged hands securely with his friend and hauled him the rest of the way up the sheer cliff. In one movement, he dragged Grif to his feet and smacked him hard on the back.

"Ready for next time?"

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Oh, my god, you guys. This one was so hard to write. Like it started out super easy, but then turned into this whole big thing lol I notice when I'm having a hard time with a fanfic, thats usually the characters telling me I'm wrong. Hopefully, I got it right.

So just to throw this out there, i would not be upset if someone were to, saaaaay, draw some simple fanart of when Simmons yanked Grif into that scared hug. I can pay in ficlets if you like!