Chapter Text
Grif and Tucker roll through the drive thru of the local McDonald’s.
As Grif lowers the window, a screeching noise blares through the intercom’s speakers. Tucker jams his fingers in his ears at the shrill sound, yelping, “What the FUCK, man?!”
A nervous voice crackles through the intercom. “Oh-- uh-- sorry about that, just uh, I’m new here--”
Grif ignores the apology and interrupts with his order. “Yeah so we’ll get 14 McDoubles and 3 orders of 20 piece McNuggets.”
The voice on the other line is silent for a moment, then asks hesitantly, “Oh, okay, got it. Are you having a party or something?”
“No, that’s just for me. Tucker, what do you want?”
Tucker leans across Grif, shoving his face halfway out the window. Slowly and half-yelling, he orders a Big Mac and a happy meal for Junior, as if he’s talking to a Spanish-speaking robot that doesn’t understand a word he’s saying.
“You know, you don’t have to shout, the microphones are high-quality nowadays so--”
“Whatever, nerd-- see you in a sec,” Grif drawls, driving towards the first drive thru window as the voice rattles out his total behind them.
As they pull up to the window, Grif notices the dude at the register is extremely cute, albeit nerdy as fuck in his visor and apron. He reads Dick on the employee’s nametag and smirks.
“Hey, Dick. I’d like to add something else to my order.”
Simmons looks at him questioningly. “I mean, um, sure, I can call over a manager, I don’t know how to do that yet after you’ve already--”
Grif laughs, leaning his arm outside of the window, waggling an eyebrow.
“That won’t be necessary. I’d like a side of your McD’s. As in, McDick. As in, you.”
“… That didn’t even fucking make sense.” Simmons snorts.
Grif rolls his eyes, smile plastered on his face. “Uh huh. But it worked, right? When’s your shift end?”
Taken aback by the forwardness of the question, Simmons stammers. “Uh, um. Well-- 15 minutes. But--”
“Great. I’ll go park and wait for you in the lobby so I can grab my side.”
As they exchange cash, Grif slips a piece of paper with his phone number between the bills, in case the nerd was the skittish type who might decide to run away in embarrassment after his shift. Tucker punches Grif’s shoulder, grinning and giving a thumbs up as they drive to the second window to pick up their food.