Author's notes may be found on my journal at RedvsBlue .com/Martienne

The streaming sunlight coming through one of the openings in the walls of Red Base was what woke him and he slammed his eyelids shut as tight as he could. It still seemed to be burning its way through his lids and he turned over to hold his head with his arms. Why did he have such a headache, anyway? Was this a hangover? How could he possibly be waking up in his base in the middle of Blood Gulch with a hangover?

"Oh, you're waking up," he heard Grif remark. He groaned a little and uncovered his head, attempting to open his eyes to look at the orange-armored soldier. The attempt failed; it was still far too bright.

"I never knew you were such a wild partier, Simmons," Grif continued.

"I'm not," Simmons grumbled from beneath his shelter of elbows. There was a pause and he groaned again. "What the fuck happened to me?"

"None of it was my fault, Simmons. Just so you know."

"None of what?" He rolled back onto his back and have opening his eyes another attempt. This time it worked. "Grif, what did I do?"

"What didn't you do?" Grif spoke with his usual diffidence. "Do you remember that yesterday was farewell party my sister was throwing since you and me are being reassigned?"

Simmons thought for a second, letting his eyes droop shut again. "Maybe…" he moaned.

"Yeah, well, you said something about trying to get the nerve up to talk to her." Grif's tone made it clear that he assumed Simmons had had something more in mind besides talking. "But you had a few too many before you even tried getting up, so by the time you actually got over to talk to her you weren't making much sense. It was actually really funny."

Some of this was starting to come back to Simmons. Sister had been asking him some questions. Something about if he had come over to talk to someone. He'd wanted to make a good impression on her, so he had agreed. To something… What was that person there for? They had some kind of thing that buzzed and poked him. His brow furrowed as the memory slowly washed over him. No…that couldn't be right. It couldn't.

Unless it was. The spot that the person had poked was aching dully, he realized. He suddenly sat up in a panic and yanked up his pant leg. "Grif, what is that?" he asked in a panicked tone.

"Looks like you remember it to me," Grif said lazily. "I think it's exactly what you think it is."

"Grif!" Simmons wailed as he pulled on the tape that held down the gauze. "Tell me you wouldn't let me get a tattoo when I was drunk!"

"I don't know why I'd tell you that. Matter of fact, I don't know why you think I would stop you."

The gauze had peeled off and it was just as Simmons dim recollections were telling him. He had a tattoo on his leg of a rhinoceros. A motherfucking gray-ass rhinoceros. "Why did you let me get a rhino on my leg?" he shrieked.

Grif shrugged. "Sister was telling you how bad she felt about the fact that they'd gone extinct. You were trying to impress her, or somethin'. Dumb-ass fucking move if you ask me. Considering that we've been reassigned and who knows when you'll see her again."

"But I didn't… I wanted to…" Simmons's voice was squeaking. "Did I get alone with her at all?"

Grif gave him a look that seemed to be part disbelief and part ridicule. "Simmons, you passed out cold during the tattoo. We had to carry you back here."

Simmons laid back with a whimper. "Holy shit…" he uttered.

"Simmons, Grif!" Sarge's voice was unmistakable as he thundered in their direction. "What have I told you about lying around without your armor on when we have important reconnaissance to take care of! I'm going to need intel on the Blues before you two abandon me to single combat!"

Grif rolled his eyes. "Sarge, there's no 'the Blues'. There's just my sister."

Simmons whimpered a bit. "I was trying to figure out what to do about this tattoo, sir. I'm sorry I wasn't at my post."

Sarge approached him to stare at his leg. "What in the name of David Attenborough is that?"

"It's a tattoo, Sarge," Grif piped up sarcastically. "They use a needle to shove ink under—"

"That's not what I'm asking about, you moron. I mean, what is it supposed to look like?"

Simmons blinked at Sarge and then at the tattoo. The image looked pretty realistic to him. "It's a rhinoceros."

"It's a what?" Sarge crossed his arms and planted his feet. "Boy…are you making up animals again?"

"No, it's a real animal. I wanted to impress Sister, and she was talking about how much she liked them…"

Sarge raised an eyebrow at him. "So you're saying I could go down to a zoo and see this thing?"

"No…" Simmons sat up and shook his head. "They're extinct."

"You need to be clear with me, soldier. Either I can go down and see one of these 'rhino-whatevers' or there's no such thing. Now which one is it?"

Simmons sighed. He'd been over this kind of thing with him before and since he was still dealing with a hangover, arguing it any more just wasn't worth it. "No... There's no such thing."