CHAPTER 9 – WEATHER OR NOT

The conversation between Hawkeye and B.J. in the Officers Club was thwarted by the sound of the door slamming and a blizzard-like wind. In walked Sergeant Rizzo, looking to be half-drunk already. Most likely he was simply groggy from just waking up from his usual position under an Army jeep. The hard caking of snow on the front of his pants confirmed this—yeah, he had been sleeping face-up with only his legs exposed to the elements.

"Either of you boys wanna know tonight's forecast?" he asked in his guttural Cajun accent. "Three bucks gets you three days' weather."

"I only have to look at you to know the weather," Pierce said with a sneer.

Rizzo glared at the tall doctor suspiciously. "What are you talkin' about? You some kind of mind-reader or somethin'?" he murmured.

"Yes I am," Pierce replied. He shut his eyes dramatically, holding his hands out in front of him. "I am seeing—a picture of snow."

"What the hell? How did you do that?" Rizzo blurted, utterly startled.

"I'm not a rocket scientist, if that's what you're thinking. It's all over your pants."

Confused for a moment, Rizzo stared at Pierce then looked at his pants, which were covered in snow. He slowly shook his head.

"Lookin' at my pants won't hep you predict tomorrow's weather or the next," he explained in his slow Louisiana drawl. "Three bucks and I'll tell ya."

Hunnicutt spoke up, feigning interest.

"Would that be three bucks for both of us or each of us?"

Rizzo stroked his chin, thinking for a moment. "Three per person. That makes six for the two of you."

"You do realize that whatever I find out, I can just pass on to him," Hunnicutt explained.

"Yeah, and he'll be three bucks richer 'n you," was the gruff reply.

"But what if we split the difference?" Pierce asked. Rizzo scratched his head, looking irritated.

"Don't make me think so hard so close to my wakeup time. Three bucks for three days' weather. Take it or leave it. It's my best deal yet."

"What do you mean by three days' weather, anyway? Are we gonna get two buckets of water dumped on us for two days' worth of rain?"

"Ah ah ah," Rizzo chided, shaking his finger in Hawkeye's face then holding out his grease-covered hand. "Pay, and I'll say."

"We already heard from one of your subscribers, a person who shall remain anonymous, that it's snow and freezing rain tonight," Pierce replied.

"My subscribers?" Rizzo muttered to himself, staring off into space. "You mean, people who paid me to know the weather?"

"Yes, Rizzo. The very ones."

Just then the short sergeant slammed his fist on the table, making several people in the Officers Club jump in their seats.

"Dammit, Igor!" he raged. "Can't you keep your mouth shut?"


"Now, let's see," Charles Winchester began, as he sat side-by-side with Margaret Houlihan on her bed. "At which sentence should I begin?"

"Start here," she indicated, pointing at a passage on the paper. "I think that's the sentence where I cut you off last time. I never actually finished reading this chapter, you know."

"I'm glad for that. If you'd like, Margaret, you can lie back as I read. You needn't sit at such an awkward angle," Charles told her. "How about adding more fuel to the fire before I begin? Otherwise, I could get re-dressed and—"

"I'd certainly like to add more fuel to the fire. You stay just how you are," she remarked, standing up. Within several moments, she sighed. "There's only one log left," she muttered. "Ah, well, I can get more later." With that, she tossed the log into her stove and sat back down next to Charles.

"Alright," he said, flashing her a boyish grin. With that, he began reading the chapter to her in his silky voice, his diction impeccable. "In her mind's eye, Jessica saw him aflame with passion. Unable to bridle his all-consuming lust, he moved towards her, nearer and nearer, the scent of his perspiration a potent pheromone gravitating her towards him in kind. Her heart about to explode, she pictured their bodies colliding in the starlit darkness of the gardens. She could hear the owls in their cozy far-off perches mournfully hooting cries of envy as she and Randolph united in the night, their primal screams echoing off the rolling hills of the estate."

He paused for a moment, glancing over at Margaret to see her closing her eyes, a smile of pure delight on her face. He couldn't break this moment and so continued the chapter, having smartly decided to keep the pages slightly elevated above his lap as he read. It had been a clever decision. This kind of talk was getting him more worked up than he would ever have admitted.

"To imagine their bodies intertwined in this embrace of passion, Jessica found herself panting with exertion in the privacy of her boudoir, the delta betwixt her thighs hot and throbbing for her Randolph. She stood at the window, imagining him standing before her, eyes locking on hers, blue on blue, raw lust emanating from his every pore as he ravaged her naked body with his eyes."

At this, he turned his head ever so slightly to find Margaret looking his way. His breath caught in his throat as their eyes locked, the intensity of their gaze was enough to spark a fire. Briefly he lowered his gaze to her chest and the curve of her hips unfortunately adorned in her Army fatigues, clearing his throat before again focusing on the paper in his hands. He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face as he spoke the titillating lines.

"However, Jessica wanted all of him, a rapture that could not be afforded in the wake of Lord Cheevers' murder. She craved the smoothness of Randolph's voice, the musky taste of his sweat, the coarseness of his full lips against her silken petals—"

"Major."

He looked over at her with surprise at her interruption, his eyes wide as he attempted to read her expression.

"Tell me; does that mouth of yours do more than talk?"

He almost swallowed his own tongue.

"Of course… but don't you want to hear about your—I mean, Jessica's silken—"

She stopped him in mid-sentence by putting a finger to his lips.

"Let's reenact, shall we?"

To know that his own voice was a kind of foreplay was quite satisfying, and he sat, unsure of what to do next. This was a new kind of experience for him—until now, Margaret had been the aggressor, and now it seemed that she was letting him take the reins. This adjustment would take a little time but it could be accomplished.

Before he could say or do anything, Margaret ran a finger from his knee along his bare thigh until it reached the edge of his shorts. He swallowed, his eyes locked on hers.

"Does this mean you're going to disrobe?" he asked her, his voice very small. Was it possible that they'd soon be even in terms of exposed skin? He rather hoped so.

Her smile was both teasing and coy. She licked her lips and he felt a jolt beneath the fabric of his meager remaining garment. She'd certainly earned her nickname of Hot Lips Houlihan.

"You first."

Confusion filled his features as he stared into space, and then looked down at his remaining article of clothing hidden beneath the stack of papers, his eyes wide as he did so. When his eyes met hers, they were full of disbelief.

"I am far more… disrobed than you are, Major. In fact, you are fully dressed."

She stuck out her bottom lip as if pouting.

"Can I not admire you while you work?"

"Ha, admire me," he said with a scoff. "Your body is far more worthy of praise and admiration than mine, and yet, you're still completely covered."

"I was under the impression that this night was supposed to be about me," she remarked bitterly.

"Of course, Margaret. It's only that I fail to comprehend what pleasure you derive from seeing me in such a state."

"That's simple—you can't be arrogant and naked at the same time."

"A grave untruth, Major," he replied in a chiding tone, though a knowing smile remained on his face. "It is my rational mind and not my state of undress that dictates the many facets of my personality. Besides," he added with a shrug, "I won't be talking."

He promptly shut his mouth as he watched her slip out of her green button-up jacket, eyes growing ever wider as her shirt was removed, her top half now only adorned with a black bra.

"That's more like it," he murmured with a little growl of interest, after she'd paused for a few seconds.

"Now it's your turn," she stated. His face immediately blanched as he looked down at his shorts.

"Jessica and Randolph were equals," he commented, gaping back up at her. "As of this moment, we are not."

"Fine," she said, standing up and unbuckling her pants, slipping her feet out of her boots. In a moment she stood before him clad only in undergarments. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Margaret Houlihan standing before him in a black bra and underwear, her hands on her hips.

"You're magnificent," he muttered, feeling rather unworthy of such a prize. Had he known this would have been his reward had he allowed her to boss him around, he would have done so far earlier in his stay at the 4077th.

With that, she strode towards him in her undergarments with a seductive grin on her face, putting a knee to one side of his legs and lifting her body up so that she was kneeling astride him. He could only gape up at her in stunned silence as the papers fluttered to the floor, her breasts at eye level.

"I now understand why the ancients carved statues, if only to forever capture the perfect symmetry and graceful form of the female body. And may I say, Venus de Milo and Aphrodite have nothing on you, Margaret."

She grinned at him, lowering her body so that she was now sitting on his lap, her heat intermingling with his own as he felt her smooth arms wrap loosely around his back in an attempt to keep her balance. He could feel her warm breath on his face and were it not for her grinning so toothily, he would have planted a kiss on those luscious lips of hers. Had it not been for their clothing, this kind of position was a valid one for uniting, as it were.

"What a long but perfectly wonderful compliment," she replied, her broad grin remaining. "But now, your shorts…."

He fidgeted awkwardly.

"I am not in a position to remove—"

"Right," she replied, quickly lowering one leg from the bed and once again standing before him. He was crestfallen at her renouncing her position on his lap.

"Please, Margaret," he murmured, his voice earnestly begging. "The only place I'm comfortable being completely disrobed is in the showers. I implore you; do not ask this of me."

"The door is locked and I'm in my lingerie." She gestured to her own body. "Is this not enough to get you to do what I ask? What would Randolph do?"

He pricked up an eyebrow.

"And is Jessica going to follow suit, as it were?"

"Does that really matter right now? I thought you got your kicks from obeying me, Major."

"Ha—I'd rather forsake that argument for the moment and—"

"Do it. Shorts off. I want to take it all in."

His saliva went down the wrong pipe and he coughed several times in a moment of mild choking.

"Literally?"

"With my eyes first, Major. I never realized you had such a dirty mind. So, if you want to see where this goes, off with those shorts."

So it had come to this. His rendezvous with Margaret had amounted to nothing more than his almost disrobement and her outrageous commands of him. He estimated his time spent in her tent at an hour or so. The stripping and the passage-reading had been pleasurable enough, but now she was pushing him too far. Major Charles Emerson Winchester the third, completely in the nude with a woman still decently dressed? Utterly preposterous! It was unheard of for a man to disrobe before a woman had done so, especially a Winchester!

"Perhaps your throngs of enlisted men are comfortable with those kinds of demands, Major, but a Winchester does not and will not stoop to that level of depravity, at least not before you remove your clothing first."

Her face turned ugly at his explanation. She viciously snatched a robe hanging from a hook on her closet as he recoiled from the sudden motion. Glaring at him, she quickly slipped the robe over her sparse clothing, tying it securely with its belt. This was not going to end well.

"Throngs? What do you take me for, Major?"

He stammered for a moment, caught off-guard. He'd dug himself a hole that there was no way he'd get out of safely.

"Perhaps that wasn't the right word to use," he replied, stammering uncontrollably. "I only know that I am not the first to see your—"

"Ugh, just get the hell out of here!" With that she swung her blanket in the air, flinging it across the small room after it struck the fabric ceiling of the tent. A loud scraping noise filled the room as Charles grabbed his trousers, culminating with what sounded like a small avalanche outside the building. Both Charles and Margaret froze in place to gape up at the ceiling, following the sliding sound as it traveled from the center of the roof to the edges. Before she could fling another object, he quietly slipped his trousers on and adjusted his belt, bending over to fetch his other garments.

"This was one of my dumbest ideas to date, inviting you here! Now get out!" Margaret screamed, reaching around him to unlock the door and turn the doorknob to prepare for a quick exit. After he'd stood up holding the remainder of his clothes, she shoved him roughly up against the door, expecting it to open behind him and for him to stumble outside.

With an involuntary cry of pain, Charles recoiled as his head and shoulders slammed squarely against the door, forces wholly unpadded by his absence of hair and shirt, respectively.

"Why didn't it open?" Margaret raged, glaring at the still-shut door then at Major Winchester.

He gaped at her, eyes wide with shock, having dropped his remaining garments as his back struck the door painfully. Within a few moments his expression turned to that of disgust.

"I won't trouble you any further," he spat, turning around and facing the door.

He needed to get away from this psychotic woman, and fast. How could she have turned on him so strongly at his mere mention of the word 'throngs?' Was it really so wrong to point out an obvious fact about her past love-life? Without so much as putting his shirt back on and without hearing Major Houlihan's response, he turned the doorknob and pushed. The door didn't budge.


A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed! I tweaked it a bit based on your reviews, so I think it's improved from how it was before! Please review and let me know what you think, especially if you liked this chapter! Sorry for the angst, but it makes things more interesting, I think!