Anyhoo, this one I've actually got all planned out in my head, it's going to be completed, it will take time, but dammit, I WILL PREVAIL OVER MY DEMONS OF LAZINESS (and schoolwork)!!!!!!!! It is humorous. It will remain so, I hope, though not without it's moments of tension and angst... but nothing like "Closure", which was angst angst angst and heaviness from beginning to end.
In any case, not mine, and PLEASE, READ AND REVIEW! Or if not a review, a 'howdy doody, I read your story, ta and a Merry Christmas to ya' would still be nice. I wish they had counters on these pages... I just like to know what's being read / what's being steadfastly ignored / what have you.
P.S. The title is from, if you haven't guessed, the saying 'all's fair in
love and war.'
P.P.S. Happy holidays, and a happy New Year to come, let us hope!
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All's Fair
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"He is."
"Naw..."
"'Naw', indeed. He most certainly is."
"He most certainly isn't."
"Hunnicutt, my word, what with me being a man of the world and immensely knowledgeable concerning the social intricacies and deviations of this miserable planet, is incontestable, and my word is that he most irrefutably IS."
"Breathe, Charles."
"I will not; not in this foul and festering chamber of horrors." He paused in his writing to flick a sock off his desk and resumed his letter.
B.J. reclined lazily on his bunk, pouring himself a drink and kicking his boots off. His hat tipping lazily down over his forehead, his words were intentionally passive and mild. "If only your bank of riches was as freely flowing as your bank of words."
Charles turned from his letter with a sly raising of his eyebrows. "Why, Hunnicutt, are you proposing what I do believe you are proposing?" He set his pen aside with a delicate 'click', like the last puzzle piece of B.J.'s thousand-piece set being laid down, the scenario assembled for B.J. himself to sit back and enjoy.
Setting his martini aside, B.J. leaned forwards. "Why, Charles, I do believe I am proposing what you think I'm proposing."
Charles clapped his hands together in self-assured, covetous glee, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the tent. He swung his whole body around to face B.J., who smiled and tilted his head. "Terms?"
"Yes, indeed, terms," Charles breathed, "there must be terms. I shall name mine, you shall name yours, you shall 'yay' mine, I shall 'nay' yours-"
"... lets call the whole things off," sang B.J..
"Yes, very amusing Hunnicutt, now: operation Prove that Benjamin Franklin Pierce is of Homosexual Inclination."
"Which he isn't," added B.J..
Charles snorted his dissent, crossing his arms, leaving B.J. to commence with the negotiations.
"Well, how about 'to prove that he likes girls, Hawkeye must become involved with one romantically.' ?"
"If that were the case, I would likely be in the state of losing our little amusement this very moment. Poor terms, Hunnicutt, very poor."
"First of all, he is on Post-Op duty right now, and secondly, I meant for at least a week."
"First of all, being on duty has never stopped that drooling, depraved sycophant in the known past, and as for your terms, two weeks."
"Deal." BJ held out his hand, which Charles declined with an incredulous toss of his head.
"Furthermore, to prove that his sexuality is indeed of a devious nature, I must witness him having relations with a member of the same gender."
"Why Charles, a peeping tom! I never would have guessed!" BJ exclaimed with gleeful disbelief.
"How absurd! Of course not. I am a doctor, and a scientist, and he is merely the lab rat in this childish, however lucrative, experiment."
"Of course."
BJ offered his hand, withdrawing the offending limb at Charles' flat stare in favor of drinking on it... alone.
"Hunnicutt, that is not all. Sub-clauses and loopholes, you see."
B.J. rolled his eyes. Charles continued.
"Seeing as you two fools, for reasons mercifully unbeknownst to myself, are joined at the hip, as it were, you cannot be trusted with this secret. From this, I can see two possible results, neither of which are in my most deserving favor. You will cheekily inform him of your stance in our wager, and he will hasten to bribe the nearest female to participate in a sham relationship with him for the duration of the allotted two weeks, leaving you to collect your winnings and divvy them between the two of you, drowning them away in a night of celebration at Rosie's Bar."
"Smart, Charles, I -"
"Failing that, him being homosexual, you will sweeten the pot with the winnings by advising him to put a hold on his devious sexual activities, leaving yours truly without an iota of evidence with which to support my case."
"Which is a pile of-"
"These discrepancies shall be prevented by the following rules: if there is a female involved, she mustn't be your common two-bit nurse who will lie on her back for a fifth of whiskey... someone with character, which I find is sorely lacking in this establishment."
"Shall I complain to room service?"
"Margaret. He will have to woo Margaret. Any man who manages that will not only be in possession of their heterosexuality, but my respect."
"And your envy."
"Shut your lingual orifice, Hunnicutt, or I shall shut it for you. Furthermore, in all fair play, resisting the temptation of passive, heterosexual men who want nothing to do with his sorry hide will be no great feat of heterosexuality..."
"He has to be the one to give in to temptation and initiate... it?"
"Precisely."
"But who will try to seduce him? What guy around here is attractive enough to catch his eye, and can be trusted not to tell him about our secret bet?"
Charles gave a patronizing sigh. With a fatherly chuckle, he moved to sit beside B.J. and pat the man on the back.
"Why, you, of course."
B.J. sprang to his feet. "ME! But I'm married, I'm his best friend in this dump, and I'm not to the best of my knowledge, homosexual."
"None of which are to be a problem, as you have assured me that he prefers the oB.J.ects of his infection to be of the female variety. Therefore, he should not desire you, nor should he become enamored with your attentions," retorted Charles.
"But Charl-"
"Quiet!"
A voice could be heard echoing across the compound in the direction of the Swamp.
"It's a long waaay.... to old Jack Daniels... it's a long way... to go. It's a long waaay to gin and toooniiiic, the sweetest drink I knoooow-"
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"It's a long waaay.... to old Jack Daniels... it's a long way... to go. It's a long waaay to gin and toooniiiic, the sweetest drink I knoooow-"
The void before the crack of dawn, eight hours spend on his feel elbow deep in someone else's problems that, truth be told, neither of them should have to deal with, and Hawkeye Pierce was marching, singing, on his way back to his tent for a pick-me-up to settle down.
He burst through the door in a jumble of wheeling arms and legs, plummeting face first to meet his cot halfway. He turned over to pour himself a drink.
"It's four-o-eternity in the morning, the sun is still on RR, the birds are all choking on shrapnel, and my tush hasn't felt the caress of a cot since the last coming of Christ... what an excellent day to have a rotten day!" It took him more than a moment to notice B.J. and Charles huddled, heads together, on the edge of B.J.'s bunk.
"What are you two lovebirds lovingly dreaming up in your lovely little heads this time of morning -or is it night- this week-before-Christmas-eve? If it's sugarplums and fairies, you can count me in." And, his drink splattering to the floor, he collapsed once again into his cot.
Charles waltzed back to his desk to complete his letter, muttering.
"Sugarplums and fairies... you've lost already, Hunnicutt... you've lost
already."
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TO BE CONTINUED (I promise)...