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Grif frowned, his eyes tired but oddly alert, as he tugged insistently at Simmons' hand. 


"Grif," Simmons sighed, trying to pull his robot hand away from his teammate's death grip. The taller male was certain that if his hand was actually flesh and bone that Grif would've already broken his hand, as he was certain he could hear the metal creaking. "I have to go, they're waiting for me."


Simmons renewed his efforts of freedom, but Grif whined and pulled the cyborg closer: tightening his grip. 


Simmons frowned, surprised that a half asleep Grif was this strong. 


Simmons glares at the smaller man, eyes softening when Grif stared back at him: eyes begging. 


"Dex, I have to go." Simmons said sternly, allowing his other arm to try and pry Grif's fingers off. Grif let out a loud whine when the nerd finally got the fatass to let go, jumping backwards but not avoiding Grif when he lunged, successfully trapping the cyborg again. Simmons gritted his teeth, grinding out; "You're going to make me late, Grif."


"Promise me." Grif begged, "Promise me, Simmons, then I'll let you go. Just don't say goodbye, I hate goodbyes."


Simmons let out a airy chuckle, shaking his head. There was no way anything would go wrong, Kimbill planned it out before hand. Simmons trusted the leader of the Rebels to help him get back his friends, to get back Sarge and Donut and Lopez and Washington and maybe Freckles. 


But Grif didn't. Grif never trusted the Rebels, even after they risked their lives to save them and the Blues from the Feds in the canyon, even after they explained their intentions. 


Maybe he would've trusted them if they weren't currently sending Simmons, his last Red teammate, out on a dangerous mission on his own; without Grif or Tucker or even Caboose for backup. Tucker was out on his own mission with Felix, Caboose was training his team, and Grif was given the task of keeping track of the ammo. 


Simmons gave his Red teammate, his bestfriend, the person he was rarely seen without, the one he has been attached by the hip with since they met in Basic training--basically his other half--a cheeky, though slightly nervous, grin. 


"Don't worry, you'll see me again. Now let me go; don't make me hurt you." Simmons teased, giving the fatass--His fatass-- a playful glare. 


Grif snorted. 


"Please," he scoffed. "Like your skinny ass could beat me."


Simmons smiled. "I'll see you later, Dex."


And with a kiss to the cheek, Grif watched the Pelican Simmons is on fly away; waving despite the sinking feeling in his gut that told him he'd never see Simmons again.