I don't own Blackadder.

Captain Darling was in the trenches and no one batted an eyelid. In fact, they all knew it was coming. He gave a slight nod to the few soldiers he actually knew, but walked briskly to Blackadder's trench.

When walked in, the other captain opened his mouth to speak, but Darling cut him off. "Blackadder that was the stupidest plan you have ever had! Did a slow ape come up with it?"

"Thank you sir," replied the private who was clearing off the Captain's desk. "That's the nicest thing someone's ever said about a Baldrick's plan, sir."

Blackadder himself was sitting on his cot waiting for the Private and Lieutenant to set everything up that they needed. "That's because your plan was as brilliant as Melchett's blind goldfish with amnesia that happens to have an extreme allergy to water, that it constantly forgets about it until it flings itself into the water and starts swelling." He took a puff of his cigarette. "So marginally smarter than Field Marshall Haig."

George bunched his eyebrows together. "But sir, the Field Marshall is a brave man of our majesty's army who could shoot down one hundred Huns in the blink of his eye!"

"Lieutenant, Haig has only survived in the army for so long because of the old trick he picked up in the Sudan to get out of battle. He can't even fight off natives wielding food for weapons."

Darling scoffed. "If it's the private's cooking, I couldn't really blame him. What was in that anyway?"

Blackadder put out his cigarette, and began searching under his pillow for what he needed. "What are you talking about Darling?"

"I've been in this trench enough times to be able to smell Baldrick's cooking coming from miles away. Plus honestly, your Italian accent was just horrendous!"

"So it wasn't the Pope then?" the Lieutenant asked puzzled.

Blackadder sighed. "No George, the Pope did not call HQ; I did! Honestly what goes through that empty shell you call a skull besides hot air?"

"Well sir…"

The captain sighed. "You know what George? Just get out that wad of cash your mother keeps sending you and let us start our game."

The lieutenant agreed eagerly digging 100 pounds out of his pockets. "You know sir; I really don't see why we play this every week. I always win."

Darling had to smirk a bit at that as the four of them sat around the desk. Blackadder got out the cards and started to deal. "I don't know Lieutenant, but the game is hard to play without money."

"Ah yes, right." He put the money on the table before Darling divvied it up evenly, not that Baldrick or George would notice if they were shorted anyway.

It was one round into their poker game where George had bet all of his money on the worst hand imaginable and lost it all. Convinced he had won, the Lieutenant excused himself to go outside while the sun was setting to practice his art form.

Baldrick actually lost a full three hands after and went out to try his hand at 'painting with what comes from within a cat'. Neither Captain had any desire to know whether he was being literal or not.

The game should have been over quickly, what with Darling having the worst facial tic in History, but strangely enough he was quite skilled at the game. Perhaps even better than Blackadder.

They were silent for a while.

"Did you enjoy it, Darling?"

He twitched slightly. "Enjoy what, Blackadder?"

"Baldrick's home cooking."

"I've learned not to eat what smells like it came out of the backside of an animal."

"So you had the cream custard then?"

"No, but the Melchett loved it. He even fed some to his pigeon Jim."

"The same one whom he only feeds gourmet French food and wine?"

"Yes, that one."

Blackadder called before sighing. "I don't see why a pigeon gets to be drunk and I don't. This war might make more sense if I was drunk."

"No it wouldn't Blackadder. You would just be more dead than you are now."

"I wish that bloody pigeon was dead. Why don't I christen this new revolver with it?"

Darling folded. "Don't, the pigeon farm is out of the right kind of pigeon. I've had to purchase fifteen in the past three years for him."

"Fifteen?"

"He has starved them, shot them, drowned them, poisoned them, and eaten them with white wine sauce. And he still thinks it's the same bloody bird! If this new one dies, he's not getting another. He'll just have to deal with that pigeons only have so many lives and no more."

Blackadder shook his head. "If you weren't in France, from Croydon, anti-social, a git, a coward, and more awkward than the silence after the French Revolution got rid of a monarch only to have us restore one to the throne years later; you could make an excellent politician." Darling made a move to speak, but Blackadder quickly cut him off. "But only because you're very well suited to pandering to stupid people with position of authority over you."

"Has anybody ever told you that you're a hypocrite, Blackadder?"

"Only you, Darling."

He twitched. "That's Captain Darling to you."

"We all know I keep an informal trench, Darling."

The other captain scoffed. "Unless it benefits you to have it otherwise, I suppose."

"If I had bloody known you wanted the artist in No-Man's land, I would have gladly let George take credit."

"No you wouldn't, because then nobody would be around to fund our poker games."

Blackadder scoffed. "You could have at the very least told me it was a cover scheme."

"I tried to help, Blackadder. If the General wasn't as dense as an elephant made of lead, he would have realized it was George's. And then not only would you have never gone into No-Man's Land, but the whole mission would have been scrapped in order to spare the young Lieutenant's life of course."

"God forbid one of the upper class die, we need a bunch of self-important inbred to stay healthy in order to make life worth living."

"Especially those who think Germans have a ready supply of elephants."

Blackadder agreed albeit reluctantly. "How about we just shoot the whole lot of them?"

"I don't think they would be happy about it, Blackadder. I think we would be up for a court martial in no time."

"Obvious Darling you don't have the right connections. I know of a man who could have us acquitted for the murder of Field Marshall Haig and Melchett and not only have their jobs but get to meet the King himself for awards of military honour."

Darling laughed as he won the next hand. "And you say I know how to weasel out of things."

"Please, we both know the only reason you even have that desk job is that you are the only person they could find who didn't know how to aim a gun well enough to kill Melchett."

"Well, he's a git."

"Amen."

The phone rang. Darling sighed, "Speaking of the git; I'll bet that's him."

Blackadder picked up the phone and had some foreign exchange with the other end. "On the contrary Darling, it seems some person has mistaken us for a French brothel. So unless you are secretly a French prostitute, that was not you being beckoned back to HQ."

He sighed. "I had better go anyway; the General gets upset if his pajamas aren't folded by ten."

"You just want to leave, because you know if you stay any longer you'll lose."

Darling scooped up his winnings, having gotten 75 pounds, and tipped hat to the other captain in a rare gesture of goodwill. "Good day Blackadder."

"Farewell Darling," he called over the ringing of the phone.

Captain Darling gave a courteous nod or two on his way out of the trenches. It was rather silent, until from very far away a voice called out in anger. "Baldrick! Where is our food?"

"I had to feed the cat sir, for the vomit sir!"

With a chuckle Darling left the trench, going home to his own insane war family.

A/N:

So I'm totally not British, nor am I from WWI. But I love Captain Darling so badly. If I was in this universe I'd be Doris, I just would be.

Except I don't know, I kind of think Doris doesn't exist…Ah conflicting head-canon!

I plan to put one of these after each episode of season 4, with perhaps slight exception for the last one.

As far as I can tell, there was no reason they wouldn't have had poker, so they did.