Red vs Blue and its characters are the creation of the crew at Rooster Teeth and is itself based on Halo, by Bungie and Microsoft.

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"Captain Tucker?" came a voice like a goldfish in cheap headgear.

Tucker turned from where he'd been trying to convince Grif to do a better job of hiding his stash of Oreo knockoffs. The morning's scenario hadn't been a complete disaster. The trick had been putting Grif in charge of the driving instead of Caboose. At this rate, they'd be ready to rescue the others by Christmas. Of course, by then Locus would have chopped them all up into a Wash-Sarge-Donut turducken.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Uh, shoot."

"Why does your sword only work for you?"

"'Cause I'm the one who fell into the damned hole," said Tucker.

"Huh?" she answered.

"Let me handle this, Tucker," said Grif.

Smith and Bitters were still putting away the explosive cones from that day's round of drills, but they both paused without looking up. Captain Grif's war stories had become a pretty popular way to take an unscheduled break without getting yelled at by the Commander. She yelled at Grif instead.

"You see, Jensen," said Grif, "Tucker's sword responds to him because it's alien technology, and he's a human-alien genetic hybrid."

"He is?" asked Jensen.

"I am?" asked Tucker.

"He what?" came a shrill voice from across the cavern.

"Cool," said Palomo.

"Whatever," murmured Bitters.

"Alien hybrid?" Jensen shifted her weight to one foot. "That doesn't sound right. Captain Tucker?"

Tucker had a good "Uhhhh" started but Grif swaggered past him with one meaty glove on his chestplate. "I got this one, buddy."

"We're not actually what I would call 'buddies.'"

"So Jensen, Tucker got parts of his genetic code rewritten when he got impregnated with an alien baby."

"Alien ...baby?"

"Lieutenant Jensen," Smith set down his crate of practice weapons, voice as deep and perfectly measured as the flawless blue accents on his armor. "Captain Tucker's work in the UNSC diplomatic corps alongside his son, Lavernius Tucker Junior, is well known." He stopped short, one hand moving toward his opposite arm. "But I have to admit I thought the kid was adopted or something."

"If by 'adopted' you mean 'he clawed his way outta my abdomen and it hurt like fucking fuck.'"

"That sounds ...kinda' gross."

"It sounds biologically implausible," added Jensen. "Are you sure that's what happened?"

"Do you want to see my damned stretch marks, Lieutenant?"

Jensen went completely still inside her armor, blushing so hard it was audible.

"Uh, ...could I?" she asked in a tiny voice, two index fingers tooling nervously. "You know, for science."

"I dunno about stretch marks, but I have this cream that's really good for winter dryness, so if you want some—"

Tucker held up both hands. "Okay, one, it's not winter; we're in the effing jungle. Two, shut up, Palomo."

"Yes, sir."

"Maybe we should back to the part with the sword?" asked Jensen.

"Sure," said Grif. "As everyone knows, when you have sex with someone, you absorb their DNA. That makes Tucker the galaxy's first confirmed alien-human hybrid."

"I don't know?" said Jensen, shuffling her feet. "See, I was majoring in biology before I joined the New Republic? And I took this genetics class? And a basic bio class? And a taxonomy class? And in eighth grade I had health class? And I'm pretty sure my instructors said that sex doesn't actually—"

"Jensen, who are you going to believe? Me or a bunch of accredited science professors who've earned advanced degrees and been published in professional journals? You know that peer review is all a big scam, right? Next they'll have you thinking that fluoride is good for your teeth or that cracking your knuckles won't give you arthritis or that climate change is caused by—"

"Oh for Pete's sake!" came shrill voice. Tucker jumped back as Simmons materialized at the end of a knee-high contrail of kickup dust.

"Wait," said Grif, "did you hear us talking about this and run all the way over here?"

"The sound of you being wrong is like a dog whistle," said Tucker. "When I want someone to calculate something for me, I imitate your voice and start misquoting Battlestar Galactica."

"I will not have you infecting my recruits with your stupidity, Grif!" insisted Simmons, one finger hammering out a Morris code telegram of disapproval against Grif's visor.

"Hey, watch the goods!" Grif straightened his helmet. "Well then how do you explain the sword thing, smartass?"

"I'm glad you asked! Lieutenant Jensen!" called Simmons.

"Yes sir!" she answered, straightening to attention. Grif nodded toward Bitters who sighed and started counting under his breath.

"Even if any of that bullshit that Captain Grif just said were true, Tucker's sword was attuned to him before we even met the alien known as Crunchbite, let alone before Crunchbite had his way with him."

"Could you not talk about it like that?" asked Tucker. "It's still pretty weird for me."

"Fine," said Grif, "but the whole reason Crunchbite weirdly impregnated Tucker in an event that we're not going to talk about like that—"

"That doesn't count as not talking about it like that," said Tucker.

"—was so that he could steal Tucker's sword and give it to Junior for him to use," said Grif. "Presto: Crunchbite must've rewrote Tucker's gene pool and now he has alien DNA."

"That's doesn't even make sense," shrilled Simmons. "Besides, if anyone left any alien DNA in Tucker's body, it was Junior, not Crunchbite."

"WHAT?!" Tucker snapped around at Simmons. "I admit, I got confused about what the word 'pacifier' meant at one point, but that does not mean that—"

"I mean when you were pregnant, Tucker," said Simmons.

"Still not clear on how we got to that," murmured Jensen.

"I asked Principal Kimball to do a class on where babies come from," said Caboose. "She started to cry. I don't think she likes babies."

"So you admit Tucker's a hybrid," said Grif.

"No! It's called microchimerism. It happens all the time! You see, before Junior was born, some of his cells sloughed off into Tucker's system. Because those cells hadn't completely differentiated, they accepted signals from whatever they encountered in Tucker's own tissue matrix. But this wouldn't have altered any of Tucker's own DNA."

"Huh?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Jensen. "I get it now! Permission to explain, Captain Simmons?"

"Permission to attempt to penetrate Grif's thick skull granted, Lieutenant Jensen."

"Thank you, sir. Captain Grif, what Captain Simmons is saying is that some of Captain Tucker's son's baby cells broke loose and got into Captain Tucker's bloodstream. The ones that bounced off nerves would have become alien neurons and integrated into Captain Tucker's nervous systems. The ones that bounced off fat cells became alien fat. You could say that they joined whatever team they found and copied what everyone else was doing—much like yourselves when you joined the New Republic. You're still Reds and Blues, but we all work together in one giant gestalt being."

"I do not put salt on beans," said Caboose.

Simmons turned on his heel. "Now do you understand, Grif?"

"Now I feel like I just watched an after-school special."

"So is Captain Tucker going to like ...turn into an alien?" asked Palomo.

Caboose shuffled his feet, "No because Doc said that it was completely impossible to become a vampire. Even if they bite you. And drink your blood."

"For the fifth time, Caboose, Junior wasn't a vampire," said Tucker.

"So when I wake up in the middle of the night and really want orange juice and cookies?"

"It is probably vitamin deficiency. Get off Grif's Oreo diet."

"Actually, Palomo brings up a good question regarding the implications of Tucker's condition," said Simmons. "You see, considering that Junior was essentially a parasitic organism, he may have had a way of masking his own cell receptors or even convincing Tucker's immune system that he was friendly."

"No calling my kid an organism!" snapped Tucker. "I wasn't even awake for that part, and, like I said, weird," he muttered uncomfortably.

"No, Tucker, an organism." Simmons rolled his eyes so hard his shoulders shook. "That means you might have even more stray alien cells than a human mom would after a pregnancy."

"So what are Junior's cells going to do now that they're in Captain Tucker's body?" asked Palomo.

"Parts of his body with little turnover, like his eyes, might not be affected," said Simmons, "but the follicles in his scalp might have incorporated some alien cells. Tucker's hair might fall out or grow in differently. Microchimeric cells are also known to affect things like wound healing and the immune response. Maybe he's susceptible to the Sangheili flu now. Or maybe any cut he gets will heal with hideous alien skin in the scar, turning him into a disfigured hulk reviled by all—"

Bitters and Palomo exchanged a glance.

"—or Tucker might be fine now but develop crippling nervous disorders later in life. He might suffer slow and painful deterioration as his own immune cells are replaced by alien T-cells that attack his own human cells. Or maybe the alien osteoblasts and osteoclasts have been reshaping his bones for the past four years and he's about to dissolve into a puddle of Tucker-flavored goo at any moment," he concluded cheerfully. "The possibilities are quiet varied."

"That got a little vivid," Tucker said quietly.

"I did not like the part with the goo," said Caboose.

"So how come Captain Tucker's son can use the same sword?" asked Jensen.

"It's not impossible that some of Tucker's own cells ended up in Junior," said Simmons. "We only know a little about alien parasitic embryos. It may even be part a natural part of their reproduction process."

"That's all great," said Grif, stepping forward, "so, what you're saying is that Tucker does have alien DNA."

"Only in those cells or their offspring. All his own Tucker-cells still have his unaltered genetic code."

"Right. Junior rewrote his DNA."

"No, he didn't rewrite anything. He just added some stuff."

"To his DNA."

"No!"

"Making Tucker a human-Crunchbite genetic hybrid."

"Microchimera!"

"That's what I said, a hybrid."

"Gyyyyryreeaaaarrrr!"

"Oh my God," came a voice like a cavern echo. "What the fuck are you guys shouting about," asked Felix, "and why do I not think it's gold team's crappy response time?"

"Orange team!" corrected Grif.

"I'm glad you're here, Felix," said Simmons. "Maybe you can talk sense into Captain Grif! I don't think I can take another minute. As you were, Lieutenant Jensen!"

"Yes sir!" answered Jensen as her CO took off.

"For the record," said Tucker, "we were talking about something super important," said Tucker.

"Yeah, something, uh," Grif searched for the words, "highly relevant to future team cohesion."

"Well it sounded like you were all dicking around again."

Caboose sniffed, "It is pronounced 'monkeying about.'"

"Whatever. Just remember, I'm not one of your fan club," Felix tossed an upnod toward where Palomo and Andersmith were trying to get a crate across the cavern without stepping on any of the local cave spiders. "If I think it's not at least possible that we'll come back alive, I'm not going. Jensen," he said, "they need you over by the vehicle bay. Jeep six is down again."

"Right away, sir!" she said, then turned on her heel. "Captains? There's one thing I still don't understand."

"And what might that be, Lieutenant Jensen?" asked Grif.

"...why does Captain Tucker's sword only work for him?"

"Oh. He's the one who fell down the hole."

"Yeah, I still don't–"

"Jensen!" called Felix.

"Yes, sir!"

Tucker and Grif watched Felix leave.

"Bitters?"

"Yes, Captain Grif?"

"How many cohesive sentences did I convince Simmons to speak in the presence of acknowledged girl Katie Jensen, Bitters?"

"Are we counting the 'oh for Pete's sake' or any of the 'gyaar' stuff, sir?"

"Ref?" asked Grif.

Caboose folded his arms and poked his chin in the air, "I will allow it."

"Yes we are," said Grif.

"Forty-one, sir."

"And how many of those sentences were directed directly at Lieutenant Jensen, Bitters?"

"Seventeen, sir."

"Bringing me to a total of—"

"...carry the one... Four hundred and sixty-one points, sir."

"Which beats Tucker's record by—"

"Eighty-six points, sir."

"And the correct response to that is?"

Tucker sighed.

"'Suck it, blue,' sir."

"Cheer up, Tucker. A few more of these and we'll have hot volleyball teammates."

"That'd be nice," said Caboose. "I only picked out Smith because I thought he'd be good at helping us get Wash and the others back," said Caboose. "And he gets along well with others. And presents himself in a clear and consistent manner. You know I like that."

Chorus's terraforming process was bare-bones. Only essential organisms had been imported from Earth and allowed to take root. Technically, wasn't a single cricket on the rock. They chirped anyway.

"And everybody looks s' same behind their helmets."

"Shut up, Caboose," said Grif.

"And Jensen's actually good at vehicle maintenance."

"Shut up, Caboose!"

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...ever see someone reblog your answer to a complicated question and then notice the twenty million typos that make your answer useless? Needlesneversleep asked Punishandenslavesuckers if Tucker was likely to have been genetically mutated by Junior during his pregnancy. I wrote what I thought was an excellent response, citing an article on microchimerism that had appeared in Scientific American. Leave out one little "not" and the whole meaning of the sentence changes. But then I realized that I could just write a short story about Simmons yelling at Grif and fix everything. God I love fanfiction.

This story was also inspired by the many "Cool motive; still sexist" comments that RvB fans made when they found out that Simmons had made a command decision based on his inability to control his shyness in front of women.

Originally posted to Tumblr as Darkfrog24.

EDIT: As of episode 12:6, Jensen's rank is established as lieutenant and not private, updating to match.