Simmons and Donut were in the Red's livingroom when he heard a triumphant yell from outside. In burst Sarge, grinning like a lunatic.
"Haha! Guess what your beloved Sarge has finally managed?"
"I was out hunting near the caves and ran across one of 'em dirty Blues! I took him out with one shot and brought this back as a trophy!" He held up a helmet.
It's visor was cracked where the bullet had gone through and blood smeared along the inside. Drops of red trailed along the carpet, dripping from the still bleeding neck.
"You cut off his head?!"
"Sure thing Donut. Leave the enemy humiliated..."
Simmons had gone deaf and blind to everything except the grisly trophy. Oh God. No. No this can't be real. Sarge had killed a Blue. Sarge had killed this Blue. His Blue. Oh God.
Donut glanced at the maroon soldier and felt his heart clench in sympathy. Simmons' face was completely blank, hiding the swirling mass of emotions Donut knew was there. Carefully he steered Sarge from the room, the still talking officer placing the head down on the table before he left.
Alone, Simmons went to the table and gazed at it's burden for a long moment.
Maybe he'd let another soldier wear his armour today? Sometimes Grif had to wear his spare armour while Grifs had it's monthly clean.
Yeah, that could be it. This could be one of the other Blues. One of the ones he didn't care about.
But, Sarge had said 'the caves'. That was their meeting place. And Simmons had been planning on going out there when Sarge had gotten back.
Doesn't mean it's him.
The devil on his shoulder prompted and cajoled. A look would tell him everything.
Slowly Simmons reached out and laid his fingers either side of the helmet. He gripped the cool metal and felt it's cold seeping up his arms and into his chest.
One hand made it's way down and underneath, brushing against congealing blood and lukewarm skin.
Gritting his teeth and forcing his stomach to settle, he clasped as much of the neck as was remaining and began to pull.
At first he thought it wasn't going to come off, but with a sickening shlurp the head was revealed.
He was as handsome dead as he had been alive, save for the gut-churning mess where his right eye had been. Nerveless fingers dropped him and Church's head rolled to a stop near the far wall.
Simmons felt both his heart and mind break at the same time, and detachedly thought it a beautiful feeling.