Cyborg Parts -- Final

Pairings: Just a touch of Grif/Simmons (Nothing hot and heavy, just a friendly ficcy thing)

Disclaimer: I own the story, Bungie owns Halo 1, 2, and 3. Roosterteeth owns Red Vs. Blue. Now that we've sucked the fun out of everything, let's carry on, shall we?

Author's Notes: Here you are. The final version. Enjoy!

Growling softly under his breath, an maroon clad soldier to put his borrowed sniper rifle down to wipe the end of the scope. There was still a smudge on it and Simmons didn't want to know what it was.

He knew WHO it was from, of course. Everyone knew. No matter how many times Grif told Donut not to touch his rifle, it always seemed to go missing for a few hours before miraculously reappearing (usually with the glass on the scope messed up) exactly where he'd had left it.

While he was cleaning it, he cursed to himself again about the absurdity of this whole 'battle' they had going on.

He flexed an increasingly stiff, bionic left knee. He must have slept funny last night… Could you do that with a bionic leg? Oh well. At least it HAD feeling. (Not for the last time, he wondered what the fuck he'd done to deserve being turned into a Cyborg.)

Once the scope was (by his standards) clean, Simmons put it back to his eye to resume his watch on the blue base across the canyon.

"Oh. My. God, does anyone in this canyon actually do anything?" he asked out loud. "Grif should be doing this."

Through the scope, he saw the teal soldier (''Tucker, right?' thought Simmons) chasing the blue one ('Caboose?') around their base four times, waving his arms while the cobalt one sat on the top and watched. That one, Simmons knew, was named Church. Everyone knew that. Except maybe Sarge. Church sat back with his arms crossed, shaking his head. If the teal one was yelling, Simmons couldn't hear it. He assumed he was though.

"I can't believe Sarge has me watching these idiots…" his sighed. "I wonder where their girl is?"

Now the blue one was doing an odd dance on top of the base now while the teal soldier hurried inside to catch him. Before he could get there though, Church had gotten up and sneaked up behind Caboose. Nonchalantly, he 'accidentally' bumped the private off the roof. The regulation blue armor protected him well and he bounced right back up onto his feet, looking up at Church.

"Hey, anything going on?" Grif's voice came from behind him on the ramp.

"Is there ever?" countered Simmons, watching Church laugh. "What are you doing up here? Aren't you supposed to be helping Sarge with the Warthog?"

He lowered his sniper rifle and turned to look at the orange private. Grif shrugged.

"Snuck away while he was distracted with Donut."

"Shirking duties, as usual."

"Hey, I'm not shirking! Honestly, I came up to see if you'd switch me. Sarge won't try to infuse your bone marrow to the undercarriage of the Puma. God only knows why…"

"Yeah, he'd just want me for spare parts," came Simmons' sarcastic reply. His eye roll was hidden by his tinted visor. "Anyway, you really want to watch Caboose make an ass of himself... Again?"

"That's good entertainment!"

"Hardly," scoffed Simmons. "He's a dumber, possibly straighter version of Donut. How come the rookies we got are still so moronic? They've been out here for almost a year and they just seem to get worse. I thought they were supposed to get smarter with the experience."

"Experience?" laughed Grif. "Look at this so-called battle! It's like a bunch of kids playing war, except instead of big, cardboard boxes, we have real, working artillery!"

"A terrifying thought for all…" Simmons sighed. He flexed his knee again, glad that his visor covered his wince. Something popped. Grif heard it.

"What was that?"

But Simmons didn't hear a word. He was already down on the ground, holding his knee. It felt like it had exploded. His vision went white around the edges from the pain. Grif was kneeling next to him, talking. There was screaming…? Grif?

'Oh, wait, that would be me,' came the oddly calm thought.

The pain seemed to go on forever. It would never end. He gritted his teeth against another onset of screams. Bashed his helmet against the concrete until Grif stopped him. He held Simmons' head tight, one hand between it and the cement.

As sudden as it started, the pain just… stopped. Sweating, shaking, and pale, Simmons tore off his helmet to get a breath of fresh air. Grif's was off as well. He looked scared.

"Simmons…?"

The maroon soldier lay there, breathing heavily for a minute. He wiped cold sweat off his face.

"What… the fuck… was that?" he panted after a few moments.

"You're smoking," said Grif, dumbfounded. He pulled out a cigarette from a compartment in his armor.

"The hell I am," Simmons snapped, eyeing it.

"No, I mean you're smoking. Look at your knee. This is for me. That was traumatic."

Indeed he was. Black smoke was coming out of the hinges of the maroon leg armor. And--

"Uh, hey, Grif?"

"Yeah?" Smoke curled out of the orange soldier's mouth as he spoke. Color was beginning to return to both privates.

"I can't feel my foot."

"Surprising… As it's Sarge's work," scoffed Grif. "Are you all right to get up?"

For once, Simmons didn't try to defend their leader or kiss his ass. Grif was proud, but he didn't say anything.

"Well… Actually, yeah. What the hell just happened?"

"Who the fuck knows?

Grif grasped Simmons' hand and hauled him to his feet with surprising ease. He slung a maroon arm around his shoulders and helped him below. All the while Simmons was bitching about robotics.

Within a few hours, Simmons was back up and online, (almost) good as new. That didn't keep him from bitching about being back on watch. He had his helmet off, earpiece in, using his deck of holocards for a rousing game of solitaire.

"Oh, my gawwwd…" he groaned, checking on the blue base for a moment. He was in time to see Caboose pushed Church off the base. The teal one had disappeared behind a rock about an hour ago. Tex was still nowhere to be seen. He growled.

"Hey, you all right up there?" came Grif's voice over his headset.

Simmons allowed himself a smile.

"Yeah, Grif. Thanks for your help, man," he said into his mic.

Author's Notes: And there you have it. The final draft. Hopefully, more Red Vs. Blue fanfics will be well on the way. This was fun. All three versions, lol. Please review and tell me what you think of the final product.

"A work of art is never complete. Only put aside for a while."