A/N: So! This is my first time writing for RVB. Simmons and Grif are probably OOC, but I'm working on it! Please enjoy! And reviews feed the hungry author :
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I wish.
Simmons sat at one of the worn down tables at the base, tinkering with his mechanical arm. As he watched the circuitry flash and move, he was stuck by his own feelings on what he was now. Thinking about it now, he wondered if he could truly be considered human anymore. He was more robot, to be honest. His heart beat in his best friend's chest now, same with his lungs. They drew breath for the Hawaiian, leaving Simmons without them. The metallic fingers flexed, their grip far tighter than any human's could ever be. He could snap bones like twigs if he so desired, but he didn't. The metal crawled up his skin, up his arm. The metal was his arm, actually. He only noticed that it wasn't flesh and bone when he felt the gears catch or felt the eternally cool touch somewhere where his humanity was intact.
He was being dramatic, he realized. His body was mechanical, not his mind. His body wasn't going to take over like in the many sci-fi movies he'd watched all his life. He wasn't an an AI, he wasn't a computer program, even if he felt like one sometimes. Some days he dragged himself from his bed, his metallic limbs weighing down more than just his bed and body. When he looked to the mismatched skin of the man who slept across from him, he didn't didn't regret giving up so much for the dark haired beauty. But when Grif wasn't there to greet his sleepy eyes, he wondered if all he'd become was actually worth it. He wondered if becoming some kind of science experiment for his superior officer wasn't something he was going to regret for the rest of his life.
Caught in his melancholic state, he didn't notice a certain orange soldier enter the room. He'd ceased on his tinkering, leaving the inner of his arm exposed, resulting in a scoff from the other man, "That's gross, Simmons. I don't want to see your robo bits. Isn't that like some sort of privacy thing." To say the maroon soldier was surprised was an understatement. He yelped and the screwdriver slipped, catching something in his arm. His fingers started to twitch wildly, moving on their own accord.
"Fuck! Grif, can you not be an asshole for like ten minutes?" He huffed, sharp green eyes focused on finding whatever he'd shorted out. The room was a tad tense, Grif still in the place he was when he entered the room. He tried to keep his fingers still and winced as he felt the leftover nerves sting and ache in protest of the foreign material. Grif's own fingers twitched ever so slightly as he watched Simmons struggle to control his own body.
Simmons was frustrated beyond what he could explain. He didn't have the most basic of controls over his body, the control so many people took for granted. He felt the urge to tug at his hair, to yank until it came out. He gritted his teeth, fingers still moving haywire. Then, Grif was sitting beside him, tanned fingers grasping chilled silver ones. Simmons head snapped up, "Simmons, calm down. You look like you're going to tear off your own hand." Grif quipped, covering his concern with sarcasm, as per usual. The red-haired soldier looked down, expression like a scolded child's. He found the short and quickly repaired it, face still faced down. Moments like this, rare as they were, reminded him of his humanity. He could hear Grif speaking through the jumbled thoughts in his head, "See? You got it, you nerd." The Hawaiian teased.
Simmons looked up to Grif, spying the bits of ivory skin that contrasted harshly against the naturally dark skin on the man. His skin, wrapped around the other. It was disgustingly, disturbingly beautiful. He could see his humanity painted on Grif. He chuckled humorlessly, "Just a bad day. Maintenance screw up. I'm fine." He waved off, sliding the metal fingers from the warm flesh ones, "Sarge kick your ass again, fatass?" He asked lightly, trying to get in his own jabs in. The dual-toned man just huffed and reclined back in his seat, "I'll take that as a yes." He could faintly hear a grumbled, 'Fuck off.' Which made him smile. He attempted to pull back on his long sleeved shirt, but Grif stopped him, eyes inquiring.
"Wait." Was all he said, but it was enough to make the man stop. Grif stood and moved to him, raising the hand that wasn't his own to trace over Simmons metal arm. There was a question on his lips, Simmons could tell by the way his eyes observed. Seconds that felt like hours passed before Grif spoke again, "...Why'd you do it?"
The question stole his thoughts away from him. Looking down at his half metal body, he asked himself the same question. Though, this wasn't the first time he'd asked himself this. He'd asked and questioned himself the same thing a thousand times over. He wracked his brain for hours after he was off the operating table. He remembered still being naked and his body being new and wondering why he'd done this. Why would he give up so much of himself for the man who'd done nothing but call him names and degrade him? But when he truly thought of it, he gave up himself for his best friend, for the man who he'd trust his life to. The answer was obvious and he'd always known it. Why had he done it?
"Because I couldn't let you die. If I hadn't, you would have been buried in that fucking canyon and you hated that place, Grif." He admitted softly, as if it were the first time he'd said. It was, in fact, the first time he'd said it aloud. He swallowed thickly, "I just...I just couldn't let you die." There was more he could have said, why he couldn't let him die, but the words always died on his tongue. Grif's breathing was even and then he was laughing. He was laughing and Simmons couldn't help but join in on the madness.
"You're such a fuckin' sap, Simmons." The normally orange clad man said almost affectionately. He grinned mischievously and pulled away from Simmons. He slid his hands into his jean pockets and started to stroll out of the room, "Oh, and Simmons? I love you too." He hummed casually.
Simmons sputtered and flushed deeply. He threw on his shirt and stumbled after the Hawaiian, "Wait! Grif, you dick, wait up!" He huffed, intending to give him a few choice words.
When Simmons thought hard enough about his humanity, he knew many wouldn't consider him very human anymore. But that was alright with him, because Grif was human enough for the both of them, enough to make Simmons dark thoughts vanish. Simmons was human, of course he was. He knew he was, but he was glad that Grif reminded him of it though.