Chapter 15: Nothing Like a Hitler Stash

A moan echoed through the room.

No, it wasn't zombies … the author is entirely too lazy for an AU like that, but it was something just as scary: Grif was waking up from his medically induced nap and he wasn't the least bit rested. In fact, he was sure he was going to puke.

Moaning again, Grif flopped a hand over his unprotected head, trying to block out the florescent lighting that seemed to be penetrating right down into his brain.

Huh? When did he take his helmet off?

Opening his eyes to look at his patchy skin, the next important question hit him.

When had he … painted his nails?

Beadily looking at the glittery orange? nail polish, he noticed the next inconsistency. He was actually in the new base's medical bay and that in itself was a downright oddity. Generally, if he gets injured, Sarge would just leave him where he lay. Grif would then wake up a few hours later dizzy from dehydration or blood loss. No one, well except maybe Simmons, would even go through the effort of dragging his heavy ass to a medical bed for that matter take off his helmet so he wouldn't suffocate in it in case the power pack died.

Frowning, the next inconsistency presented itself to him as someone stood over him: Huh? Someone was actually minding him. Too bad … they were purple.

Grif groaned again and covered his face with both of his hands, hoping to block out the world. This was not happening. Doc couldn't be caring for him because if that idiot medic was, he just as well stop breathing now and stop wasting everyone's time.

"Good morning Grif. Or should I say afternoon? Good to finally have you with us," came Doc's sickeningly chipper voice.

Sighing, knowing there was likely no escape, Grif groaned, "Hey, Doc. Am I dead?"

"No, silly," said the medic in an ever-cheery tone. "You are very much alive … even though I still don't know how that is medically possible."

Deciding that he was safer away from Doc, the orange soldier decided to sit up, murmuring, "Yeah … well, I'll just be leaving before you accidentally fucking kill me."

Noticing what was happening almost immediately, the medic tried to warn his newest patient, "Wait, Grif, you have just gone through surgery. Perhaps it isn't the smartest thing to sit up-"

Despite Doc's immediate warning, the soldier gave a dry cry and fell back onto the bed instantly, pain running all the way up and down his chest. It was as if someone had gutted him from his collar bone to his crouch.

"What … the … fuck," whined Grif, now refusing to even twitch. "Why am I in agony and … who the fuck did my nails? Is Donut here?"

Donut's head popped into his vision a second later, the lightish red soldier likely smiling behind his helmet.

"Well, of course I am silly," said Donut in his usual flirtatious tone. "I sensed that someone needed their hand held and came right away!"

"Yes," agreed Doc cheerily as he hovered over the whining patient, fluffing the starchy pillow under the squinting soldier's head. "He held your hand the whole time you moaned in agony."

"And what moaning we did," added Donut. "I couldn't just let you moan alone in bed."

Grif resisted the urge to moan in horror.

"And since I was already here, I did you nails. Isn't it a nice color? It really brings out the color of your eyes," added Donut, far too proud of himself. "I couldn't have you debut without a little glam. I also shaved your legs, pits and back for you. You are welcome! I almost had to take a weed wacker to the bushes if you know what I mean, but Private Donut was not dissuaded from a little pruning. It took a little rassling, but now you have a pleasant Hitler stash as they call it. Threatening and flirty both a the same time like it should be for girls."

Grif glared as best as he could without moving. Strangling someone would be considered moving, right?

"What the fuck are you taking about Donut? Stop inhaling your bath soaps," groaned the soldier before he turned to the medic and growled. "And Doc, I need painkillers... now. I don't care if you predictably overdose and kill me with them. I can barely breath."

"Oh, that's probably just the extra weight on your chest," said the medic in a peppy manner. "I'm sure that will take a while to get used to. As for the painkillers. Sorry, about that, some people don't believe in it. Like Sarge!"

Grif sighed, wondering if he could face-palm hard enough to knock himself out and end his agony.

"After the first day, Sarge refused to give you any more," continued the medic. "He said this pain was to prepare you for child birth and other painful agonies that a woman has to go through. Like plucking your eyebrows and dancing in high heels or getting paid lower wages than men while you suffer under the famed glass ceiling."

"Pff, I don't know what they're whining about," interjected Donut. "Glass ceilings are totally in this season. Everybody wants them."

Covering his face with a hand, the soldier wondered if this was some kind of torture technique of Sarges, leaving him alone with these two. He couldn't even nap properly here with those two bickering over him … Wait? Glass ceiling, chest weight? Hitler stash? How did he even get injured? The last thing he remembered he was trying to take a nap on the medical bed and then … wait, was that Lopez's cooler on the floor? Was that blood on the lid?

Eyes going wide, a sinking feeling forming in his gut, the man ignored the agony and Doc's pushing hands as he sat up, immediately ripping the starchy sheets off of himself. He was greeted by the sight of bandages over his higher chest … and groin. He immediately noticed, even through the still slightly bleeding bandages, that there were now two bumps on his chest … and that he was missing a distinctive bulge between his legs.

The scream that followed could even be heard by Simmons across the canyon, the man shivering as a chill swept up his spine and he couldn't help but cry out, "Not my fault!" to no one in particular.

…

"Uh, Grif, I might not be the best medic, but even I am quite sure you shouldn't be up," came Doc in a persistent tone as he tried to take Grif's free arm again. The orange soldier merely pushed him weakly away, gritting his teeth in determination.

He … was … going … to … kill … that … cockbite.

Grif, slowly making his way to the base's exterior, panted as he leaned against the wall and glared at the jeep in the sun. Sarge and Lopez were likely outfitting it with something ridiculously stupid no doubt.

"What the fuck did you do to me?!" all but screamed Grif as he weakly clung to a wall. His brow sweating as he struggled to continue standing.

Looking up from his perch over Lopez as the mech worked on the backup jeep, the commanding officer chuckled, "Well, if it isn't sleeping beauty. We were taking bets on how long it would take until you died. Seems we all lost … everyone bet you would be dead within the first day. He-he."

"That's not true Sarge," piped up Donut. "Doc said he would wake just fine and I said that a kiss from his true love would wake him."

"Well, Simmons isn't here and apparently it was none of us. He-he … wait, that didn't come out right," said Sarge, his laugh dying in his throat while Lopez actually chuckled in a robotic way.

Grif merely touched his lips for a moment, looking sickened. They did WHAT? Fucking cock bites.

"Yeah, that was too bad. I even put on cherry chapstick for it," said Donut, digging Grif's mental grave deeper. "In fact, we were thinking about going to go ask the Blue guy."

Dropping his hand from his lips, Grif now was trying to ignore his double vision, growled, "Wait? What? You guys seriously didn't … Do you mean Caboose? The team killer?"

"Yeah," continue Donut, "but I had to tell him about the sand and all those places it gets … and Tucker … so I forgot to ask him, but I can head right over. You know what they say about kissing and telling. Its good for you and up to three."

Grif was almost sad when Simmons didn't pipe up, telling Donut that he was saying it wrong. Instead, he turned his attention back to Sarge, wanting to get this done before his legs gave out … or he died. Fuck, he was probably dying.

"What the hell did you do to me, Sarge?! Did you … did you give me boobs?" growled Grif, his legs ready to give out at any second. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"I also gave you a uterus," corrected Sarge with a chuckle. "So, now Command is right: you are a girl. The weaker, whinier sex. In fact, nothing's really changed for you Grif. Now your outsides matched your insides, weak and doughy."

Nails digging into the wall, the man (woman?) trying to ignore the stupid nail polish he had on, Grif groaned out, "And why the fuck did you do that?! That doesn't change anything!"

"It fills our need for employee diversity," said Sarge, chuckling again. "Plus, we can finally fix your female problem … by requesting for command to change you into a man. A good old fashion sex change. He-he. Then, if you survive the surgery, I can go back to hating you as god intended."

Grif fumbled for the right words, the right curses, the correct words to correlate the depths of his rage inducing hate. Instead, he screamed and was going to run forward and punch his CO in the face. Yes, it would be work, but ever since the girl escapade, he found his was too angry to be lazy. Not that his rage kept him on his feet, the Hawaiian only got a few feet into the grass before his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he passed out, crumpling to the ground like a crushed soda can.

For a moment, everyone stood there awkwardly, just waiting for Grif to get back to his feet or at least to crawl forward until he was clawing at Sarge's leg. Thus, after a minute of staring, Sarge finally spoke, "Huh. Must of passed out."

Another moment of silence followed.

"Well, it good to see he's adapting already to being the weaker sex. He-he. Passing out like a girl," said Sarge as he turned to Lopez. "Lopez, take Grif back inside. We don't want the Blues stealing are women. He-he. Who else is going to clean and take the mental abuse?"

Lopez, though a robot certainly didn't need to, sighed.

XXX

Paw07: Sorry for not updating sooner. I was kind of stuck on this chapter. I didn't know if I actually want Grif to be a girl. Then, I just said fuck it, it will be hilarious and awkward this way and thus we have an update. XD