Name: Nicole Smith

Age: 24

Rank: Freelancer medic in training

Assignment: Blood Gulch Outpost One

Armor: primary white, secondary red

Setting: season 2 episode 15-ish

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Grif heard an unfamiliar female voice call from outside.

"Oh, god ... my head," he groaned, ignoring her.

"Seriously?! It's already nine o'clock! These soldiers should already be up! If I got up at five every morning at training for no good reason..." she grumbled. "Hello?! Is anyone here?! Or are you all just sleeping?"

Grif heard the now familiar sound of Sarge's shotgun cocking.

"And just who might you be little missy?"

"Thank god, someone's awake. I'm medic Nicole Smith, sir, reporting for duty."

Grif struggled to open his eyes. His left was more sluggish than the other.

"Ah, you must be the one command sent. I'm Sarge, the one in charge around here. You'd better be more competent than that other scumbag medic!"

"I certainly hope so sir." Things had finally come into focus for Grif. His armor was off, and he could see it in a pile on the floor. He was currently laying on their kitchen table, which was the closest to a medical one Red Base had. The bright fluorescent light was blinding him, and he had to fight the urge to squeeze his eyes shut again. He swung his right leg off of the table and attempted to sit up. Bad idea. Grif immediately saw light and dark spots dance through his vision and had the sudden urge to barf. He shut his eyes again and took deep, slow breaths as he tried to lie back down. By now, that Nicole person and Sarge were coming in; him telling her what had happened yesterday.

"So I took all them parts I had left over from private Simmons and shoved 'em in Grif here."

'Well, that doesn't sound good,' thought Grif as he tried to process what Sarge had just said.

"Alright, um, let me take a look and see what I can do," Nicole said. Grif braved the outside world again as he opened his eyes to see a white helmet with the standard orange visor hovering over him.

"Oh, Christ. Don't you at least have first aid training? Those stitches have gotta be infected! What did you use?" Nicole berated Sarge.

"Some old yarn I found at the bottom of my tool chest."

"Great. Just fabulous. Umm, could you get me the morphine injection, medical thread, and hydrogen peroxide?"

"The what now?"

"Just bring me my bag please," she said with a sigh. Then Nicole turned back toward Grif and took on a gentler tone.

"Hey there, soldier. You took quite a beating. How're you feeling? I'm going to fix you up really well now, and I promise everything will be just fine."

"Have I died?" Grif finally spoke up. Looking back, the question felt stupid, but it was he first thing on his mind. He sure as hell felt as though he had.

"No, thankfully you made it through the night. You're still among the living." Grif could hear the smile in her voice.

"I'm just going to give you some painkiller right now, ok? You might feel sort of high, but you'll probably just go to sleep. Alright, ready? Just a small pinch... and there you go." Everything started to go blurry again, and his eyes started to close. The pain began to dull. Grif even smiled as he drifted off to drug induced sleep.

When Grif woke up the next day, Nicole was still standing over him. She held a big, brown, square bottle in one hand and a cotton ball in the other. Now though, her helmet was off and Grif could see his savior's face.

Her luscious dark wavy hair hung over him, and her beautiful bright hazel eyes were fixed on a point on his shoulder. The stitches, he guessed. She had a soft round face and a small, finely shaped nose. Her face was worried, and she looked tired from last night's surgery. She started dabbing his shoulder with the cotton ball again, and it stung and fizzed where it touched him. Nicole was focused on her task, and didn't realize that he had woken up.

"Hi there," he said, startling her. She jumped a little.

"Oh! Good you're awake. How are you feeling?" she asked, putting away her supplies.

"Like I got run over by a tank," he moaned.

Nicole smiled drily and said, "I'm afraid that's exactly what happened, private. I had to do some organ transplants, then I had to do it again when Sarge helped. You should be alright after a few months of recovery." Nicole smiled at Grif, and it seemed genuine. He returned the smile and laid back down, trying to get a feel for his injuries.

"Wait... transplant? So whose organs do I have now?" he wondered aloud.

"I believe his name is Simmons? He sort of had some 'leftovers' from his cyborg surgery and offered those," she replied with a cringe, "Pretty much what is now your left side used to belong to him."

"So will half of me look like him? Does it?" he asked with a furrowed brow.

"No. Surprisingly your skin somehow survived, so externally you look the same, just a few scars."

"Thank god for that." Grif tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down.

"I'm afraid we'll have none of that, private. It'll be awhile before you're back on your feet, and then you'll need a lot of help. You should know that not just organs were transplanted, but bones and muscles and nerves as well, the whole shebang really."

"Oh."

"Yeah, sorry. Nothing for it really except bed rest. From what I hear though, that won't really bother you too much. I'll have to take out the stitches soon too."

"Oh," he mumbled, "can I have some Oreos? I'm starving." Nicole cringed at his request.

"Um, did I forget to mention you'd be on a liquid diet for a few weeks?"

"What?! No Oreos! Aw shit..." he mumbled.

"Hey, that shouldn't be your biggest worry! You should be happy to be alive! You were pretty close to the edge when I got here buddy!" Nicole raised her voice. She had never yelled at a patient before! Then again, she'd never performed a full-blown surgery late into the night either.

"Sorry," she said, "guess I just need some coffee."

"Hey, you call that yelling? You should hear Sarge when I don't clean the damn Warthog," he said. "You go get some coffee. I'll be fine; feelin' better already. See if you can steal some of Donut's girly coffee, you'd probably like it."

"Thanks, private. Just shout if you need anything, I'll be back," she said, doing a perfect Terminator impression. The grin ruined it though. Grif decided he would love to have that smile directed at something he did.

"Hey, miss Smith?" he called at her retreating back.

"Yes, private?"

"You don't have to call me that. My name's Dexter."

"I'm Nicole."

There was that perfect smile.