AUTHOR'S NOTE! PLEASE READ!: Chapter 3! The title is lame, I know, but it's the best I could come up with. See if you can guess who it is at the end :D Oh, and I'm STILL debating whether Simmons and Lori or Grif and Lori will wind up together. Feedback would be well appreciated on that note. In my mind, Lori and Simmons would have a love/hate relationship, and it would take longer for them to fall for eachother and give you guys more to read, but Lori and Grif would be cute too, but it'd be a lot more unimaginitive in my mind. Maybe there could be a love triangle?? I need some ideas, people! If I don't get any ideas, I can't really write another chapter, you know? Anyway, please enjoy chapter 3! Reviews are very much appreciated!

Update: 10/02/07: I have had my journals returned to me by my teacher, so the next chapter of 'It's Like Wizard's Chess' will be written and uploaded as soon as I have time! Also, chapter 4 of my RVB fiction is written, just not typed up. In fact, I'm at school typing this. So, readers, please be patient and wait while I assemble these chapters, and PLEASE check my profile for further updates.

Sarge's voice blaring over the loudspeakers roused Lori from happy dreams of chasing Simmons with a gigantic chainsaw. With a groan, she rolled out of bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Yawning and stretching, she trudged down to the mess hall, clipping her hair up lazily as she went.

Lori took a seat at the table and pulled a bowl of cinnamon oatmeal towards her. She absolutely loved cinnamon oatmeal, almost more than she loved Trixie. Forgetting her manners and remembering how she had skipped dinner the previous night, she shoveled mounds of the sweet mush into her mouth, quickly causing two bowls of the stuff to disappear. Lori didn't care that she looked like a starved orphan; she was hungry, damn it.

"Regretting that you skipped dinner last night?" asked Grif, who had appeared out of nowhere to sit in front of Lori. She froze, her eyes bulging and her cheeks so stuffed with oatmeal that she was reminiscent of a deranged chipmunk. She swallowed hastily, but this caused her to choke and splutter. An armored hand patted her gently on the back at that moment, and she looked up to behold a solider in—was that pink armor?

"Before you say anything, it's not pink. It's lightish red," he stated confidently with a smile. "Try not to inhale your food, okay? Then you won't choke. By the way, I'm Franklin Delano Donut. You must be the babysitter Simmons has been talking about."

"It's only temporary," Lori said stiffly, her anger spiking at the mention of Simmons. "Once Sarge gives me the okay, I'm taking up infiltration." Donut only chuckled.

"Don't get too confident. Our last one didn't last a week."

"Then please don't be offended once I exceed your expectations, Private Donut," Lori replied coolly, going back to her oatmeal. Donut took a seat on her left, reaching for a glass of orange juice.

"Where's Simmons?" Lori asked shrewdly over the rim of her steaming coffee cup.

"Who cares?" Grif replied, looking a little put off. When Lori looked confused, Donut explained that the two of them didn't get along very well.

"Well that makes two of us," Lori said wryly, the previous day's events swimming unpleasantly across her mind's eye.

"He's probably off spit shining Sarge's boots, the pussy," Grif huffed. Lori snorted into her coffee.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she agreed.

"Actually, he appointed me as your partner," Simmons cut in, his shadow falling on Lori like the plague. She turned slowly, complete shock and disbelief etched on her already severe features.

"…WHAT?!" she screamed, slamming a fist on the table. Simmons smirked maliciously.

"Sarge's orders. Says a partnership will help us get along," he explained, not hiding the glee in his voice in any way whatsoever. "We'll be spending nearly every minute of every day with each other, Lori," he went on nostalgically. He lowered his voice to a whisper, muttering down into her ear so that only she could hear. "Just you, me, and that adorable little mole on your ass."

"Wait, I heard something about an ass," Donut said, his eyes flicking over to Simmons and Lori. Even Grif had glanced up from his food for a moment, a devious glint in his eye at the mention of their 'babysitter's' finely toned backside. Lori's face flushed with anger, jumping up out of her seat and punching Simmons in the stomach. Simmons grunted, his face twisting a little in pain as he struggled to stay upright.

I'm going to talk to Sarge about this," Lori announced, starting off for the hotheaded Red's office.

"He said no arguments," Simmons called after her, but Lori ignored him, head straight to Sarge's office and pounding insistently on the door. When Sarge didn't come to the door, she barged straight in, not waiting for him to say something before launching into her tirade.

"Sir, Simmons told me that he and I are going to be partners! Partners! Don't you realize what a bad idea it is to put us together?! We HATE each other! This will only make it more difficult for me to do my job! Can't you give me a different partner, or scrap the idea altogether?!"

Sarge sat with his feet propped easily on his desk, giving Lori a steady look. He, being the hardened commander that he was, had not flinched once during Lori's outburst, simply sitting with his arms folded, his expression otherwise unreadable.

"You finished, girlie?" he asked at length, stroking the rough beard on his chin. Lori slumped down in the seat in front of Sarge's desk, looking down at her boots in embarrassment.

"I apologize, sir," she muttered lamely. "That was completely out of line." Sarge chuckled, lighting a cigar.

"I like your spirit, kid. You've got spunk, drive, dedication."

Lori looked up, hoping—praying—that he was going to change his mind.

"You won't get any work done if you don't get along with everyone, Simmons included," Sarge said. "So, until you two can work together, I'm ordering you to keep him close. After all," he added, almost as an afterthought, "he's second in command."

Lori could have gagged.

Instead, she nodded humbly, taking his words with a grain of salt and leaving his office. She was disappointed that she hadn't been able to change Sarge's mind, but he was the boss and those were his orders. As much as Lori despised Simmons, she had to suck it up and deal with it. So, she decided to start forming a healthier relationship with him by going to check out how his leg was doing. Even she had to admit that turning Trixie on him had been a little extreme.

Now if only she could actually find him.

Even though she had only been in Sarge's office for a few minutes, his ever-obedient lapdog was nowhere in sight.

"Who the hell is he, Houdini?" Lori mused aloud in exasperation. The one time she actually wanted to talk to him, he was nowhere to be found. Perfect. Just perfect. Turning down the hallway to check his room, she ran slap bang into Grif, which hurt considering he was heading outside with his armor on.

"Ouch," hissed Lori, wincing a little as she stumbled back.

"Oh, hey, sorry about that," Grif smiled, scratching the back of his head apologetically. Lori smiled back, patting the air dismissively.

"No, that's all right. Have you seen Simmons?" she asked. Grif tapped his chin thoughtfully, but Lori did not miss the dark cloud that passed over his face.

"Hmm… I thought I saw him outside cleaning the Warthog, but he might have come back in for some water." He shrugged, jamming his helmet on his head. "By the way," he said, his voice metallic sounding through the helmet, "are you hot or something? Your face looks a little red." Lori blinked slowly, confused and then shook her head.

"No, I'm fine," she replied, a little set off balance. Grif nodded and moved past her, and Lori dashed into her room to get her armor on. Something in the back of her mind nagged her, though. Why had her face gotten so red? She hadn't been embarrassed, angry or overheated. So, that could only mean that she had been blushing.

'But I don't blush,' she thought to herself.

And why would she?

Still musing to herself in confusion, Lori made sure her armor was on properly and went outside. Sure enough, Simmons was out with the Warthog. He was not only cleaning, but polishing it. It was so shiny that it could have easily been used as a mirror, yet Simmons was still polishing it furiously. Lori spotted a good sized rock near her foot.

The opportunity was too tempting to pass up.

Since Simmons was so absorbed in his polishing, Lori didn't need to be quiet. Grabbing the rock, she hefted it neatly across the field. The ensuing clunk and Simmons' stream of cursing was more than satisfying. He whipped around, yanking off his helmet and glaring at her.

"What the hell was that for?!" he demanded, rubbing a rising bump on the back of his head. Lori took off her own helmet, giving him an innocent look.

"I had to get your attention somehow," she replied, striding up to him.

Simmons frowned. "Well, now that you've got it, what do you want?"

"You."

"Seriously? All right! I'm gonna get laid!"

"No, you idiot," Lori snapped. "I wanted to apologize for trying to kill you."

"You mean when I came in your room and saw you naked with that cute little mole on your butt?"

'Please, let a tank fall from the sky and kill me,' Lori thought. She spoke through tightly clenched teeth. "Yes, Simmons, that was it."

"Oh… well… apology accepted I guess," he replied, shrugging.

"Good, glad that's over with… I still hate being forced to be your partner. It's like being married."

Simmons grinned. "Maybe we'll even have make up sex," he quipped, tossing her a wink. Lori snorted in disgust.

"Don't get your hopes up."

"Hey," Simmons asked suddenly. "Do you want some water?" Lori raised her eyebrows and frowned.

"No, I'm fine. Why?"

"Your face is all flushed. Are you sure you're not overheating? 'Cause sometimes, when it's really hot like this, I get—"

"I don't want to know," Lori cut him off quickly, unpleasant images assaulting her brain. "Anyway," she said, slumping down beside the Warthog, "did Sarge just want you to come out her to shine up the Warthog or what?"

Simmons plopped down next to Lori, looking out at the monotonous landscape of the valley. He made a thoughtful humming noise. "Yeah, pretty much." Lori raised her eyebrows, frowning a little.

"Pretty much?" she echoed. "Sarge is never 'pretty much' about anything."

"Well," he yawned, raising his arms up and around in a stretch, "he did say that I should be a little nicer to you." He not-so-casually made to let his arm rest around her shoulders, but Lori knew what he was up to. Her arm shot up and grabbed his wrist, shoving it away.

"Try that again and I'll break your wrist in six different places."

"Threat noted," Simmons replied, slumping languidly against one of the Warthog's tires. Lori stared bleakly out at the valley, growing more and more bored by the second.

'A grenade exploding would be more entertaining than this,' Lori thought.

She wasn't counting on one suddenly landing between them.

"GRENADE!" Simmons and Lori yelled in unison, diving in opposite directions. As the Warthog that Simmons had so painstakingly polished was flipped clean over by the explosion, a confident, cocky voice echoed across the valley.

"Red blows!"