"The opposite of war is…" Prequel 3: Cyborg Surgery Interlude

After sustaining massive injuries, Simmons has a cyborg surgical procedure.

Main Pairing(s): Grimmons

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Cyborg Surgery Interlude:

Dexter Grif wasn't really sure what happened first. Truth be told there hadn't even been any fighting in a long while. Both sides (red or blue: who the hell even cared what color they were at this point?) had been in something of an unofficial ceasefire after the last big skirmish had rocked the planet.

It had been after that one night when he and Simmons had…

At any rate, things had progressed as they usually do for their ragtag group of morons.

Grif and Simmons had gone to the local market to pick up some supplies, talking and laughing like usual on their way back. Maybe, just maybe, Grif had started to think he might be feeling confident enough to bring up what had happened before since the distraction about Tex up and leaving had finally died down…

Only for a sudden explosion to rock the building nearby, sending the heavyset man flying in the opposite direction, his only thoughts being who would look after Kai and the irony of how they fucking had chosen today to stupidly not wear their armor.

When Grif came to moments later in the chaos, his body ached all over and his ears rang. He opened his eyes to tunnel vision as all he zeroed in on was Simmons lying unmoving in a puddle of liquid crimson. Grif made himself hoarse shouting the redhead's name, begging the kiss-ass to wake the fuck up while he tried to get the bleeding to stop.

He couldn't remember when he finally just gave up. There was too much blood, no way could he stop it all on his own. Instead, the orange-wearing man simply opted to carry Simmons' limp body across his back towards their makeshift home, not paying any heed to the warm, life-giving liquid dripping over his clothes and body as he traversed.

Grif wasn't even aware of how tired he was, of how hurt he actually was too, until Washington and Sarge, both grim-faced and far less reprimanding than usual, pried Simmons away from him. Doc, surprisingly serious for once, had Donut gently usher his shocked form into a room to get looked over.

Kai tried fixing Grif up as best she could, biting her lower lip to stop herself from shaking and crying. She was doing great, he told her once when he was aware enough to be reassuring to his little sister. He thought she could train to be a medic for real someday, and she had to work even harder not to cry afterwards. Donut helped too, though mostly all Grif could think back on was the image of Simmons simply lying there, pale skin practically translucent against the bloody ground.

And here he was, having remained at the nerd's side since Sarge and Doc had finished their emergency surgery, just praying that he would wake up soon.

Kai or someone else would leave him food that he barely touched unless the girl begged him to ("Dex, the nerd's not going to like it if you collapse from hunger on him!"), and he had a feeling that his sister was just relieved he let Doc check his bandages whenever he came to examine the still unresponsive Simmons.

Grif gazed at all the changes: the new arm and leg, the metallic plating on Simmons' face and the green artificial eye. He knew those were only the surface changes, that some of the redhead's internal organs had been replaced with gears and circuitry too.

But it was all okay, so long as Simmons was still alive. Grif thought that he had never looked more handsome to him than he did sleeping peacefully under medication just then. Because he was still fucking there, and that was all that mattered.

The others in their small, mismatched household knew better than to disturb him in his vigil.

When the pale kiss-ass finally woke up, it was to the probably perplexing sight of a teary-eyed and exhausted Grif. "H—hey." Simmons let out weakly, his eyes taking in the bandages and still healing cuts and burns on the chubbier man, "You look like shit."

It was probably the first thing that had come to mind, and pretty par the course for them. They didn't fucking mince words when it regarded the dumb shit.

Grif couldn't help but smile ruefully, "So do you, kiss-ass."

Simmons' face turned to the other side of the room where an only slightly cracked mirror had been positioned precariously on his dresser by Donut, and a loudly complaining about manual labor Church, earlier. He took in his new appearance for several tensely quiet moments.

"Yeah, I suppose I do." Simmons finally let out in a shaky voice as he sadly looked down at his hands in his lap: one hand that was still his own natural flesh and bone, the other foreign metal and circuits.

Grif tried alleviating his mood with another joke since, when things got too heavy or too serious, that's what they'd do unless they opted to avoid the topic altogether, "At least your exterior matches your nerdy interior now."

"I—I guess that's true." The maroon-wearing man's smile was still tinged with sadness though, and that caused Grif's own chest to ache. But Simmons quickly turned and fixed Grif with a worried, assessing look that caught him totally off-guard, "Are you all right, though?"

The heavyset soldier was beyond touched by the concern, and Grif was quick to try to reassure Simmons, "I got off better than you did, Simmons."

The redhead nodded, looking relieved. Grif's breath froze in his throat. An awkward silence filled the room once again as Simmons turned to look at his fractured reflection once more.

"It's…it's really not so bad." Grif tried to assure him, muttering a moment afterwards, "It sort of even looks a little cool. A total geek thing."

He didn't dare bring up what he had been thinking earlier about Simmons' appearance now.

"Thanks, Grif." Simmons smiled, even though he looked about ready to cry.

Without thinking about any possible implications, Grif quickly reached over and grabbed Simmons' new hand, squeezing gently. Simmons looked down at the gesture in awe at apparently having still felt it.

"Whatever fucking happens next," Grif said quietly, earnestly, "I'm just glad we're both still alive for it."

Simmons did start crying then, a grateful expression on his face. Wordlessly and carefully given his new hand's strength, he squeezed Grif's hand back.

They were both still here. They were both together. Whatever else happened, Grif was going to damn well make sure they stayed that way.

Author's Notes: Just one more chapter in the main story and an epilogue to go and we're done, you guys! Those should even be up in a few days as I just need to type them out and get them beta-ed. I hope you've enjoyed the ride through The opposite of war is… story-verse as much as I have writing it!

Thank you so much for reading! :D