A/N: August 1967 and it's getting sillier by the day. I did tell the guys the whole painting pictures on doors thing wasn't such a good idea. They wouldn't listen and now look what happened.

Also, I have a couple more in the buffer but there are at least three stories still either not written yet or not finished that need to be posted before I can post the next batch so your inboxes get a little break (and I'm really sorry for the spamming but I just really wanted to get done with posting all of those I could post so... yeah.).

She Can Take What I Dish Out (And That's Not Easy)

"She can take what I dish out, and that's not easy,
Well she knows me through and through,
She knows just what to do, and how to please me.
She's a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa. She's a lady."

Tom Jones, "She's A Lady"

Damn, he needed that. Eight hours of solid, non boozed aided, uninterrupted sleep… that would have been nice. Really, really nice. At least he got four hours of almost uninterrupted sleep and only two hours of lying awake after dragging himself to bed and he didn't even need booze or any other drugs for that and maybe he'll get another four or so tonight, so he's not too pissed. Or maybe he'll even ask Maureen if she wants to drive into Saigon for dinner later.

That's always worth skipping sleep and having to dodge the disapproving looks from Carter, her CO for at least a week. He knows that Carter's not a big fan of Maureen still flying with him and Dee, after everything that went down after Charlie died and then two weeks ago when Wells' spat with her father over that Agent Orange shit spilled over into Maureen having an existential crisis but you know, that shit is exactly the reason why he never told Maureen why he always has the coffee ready and the cigarettes when she needs them most and well, the alcohol, too and why he keeps getting drunk only so she can disapprove of him and drag him to her quarters and make sure he doesn't accidentally kill himself in his drunken sleep all night.

That shit's exactly the reason why he never told her about all that so they wouldn't have to act on something that doesn't exist anyway in their books and stop flying together. So that he can still be the one forking over her coffee and her cigarettes and she can still be the one dragging his sorry ass out of Le Van Loc. That shit's the reason why he'll keep dodging Carter's looks and Landry's remarks for as long as he has to, just because he thinks that no one else can make 'Nam bearable for each other but them.

Oh God, he should really stop with that sentimental bullshit and get his fucking shit together before he does something really stupid and ruins both their careers and possibly Dee's as well while he's at it. He's that kind of moron, he knows that. He really needs a strategy to deal with all that crap, and fast.

But first of all, first of all he really needs to do something about that fucking racket outside.

Grumbling something about fucking idiot hotshot gunship pilots, he doesn't even bother with shaving, letting alone even looking in a mirror but goes to put on some clothes right away. Unfortunately, he manages to step into the wrong leg of his uniform trousers twice and puts on the shirt backwards once and only remembers that maybe pulling the blackout curtains apart could help a great deal when it's time to put on his combat boots. Eight hours of sleep really would have been appreciated greatly.

Anyway. Dressed halfway decent, he manages to stumble into the hall to see what all the hooting and laughing is about, just to be confronted with a group of about ten Air Force officers of varying ranks and unit patches. There's fighter pilots and gunship hotshots and oh, Lorne and Kemp and even his own co-pilot, too.

Too many people. Definitely too many people. At least he's in the right mood and has the right look to stare at the nearest gaggle of fighter pilots and growl, "Get of my fucking lawn, you damn kids."

That, miraculously, does not get him another round of hooting and even being laughed at but abrupt silence and a few insecure stares from guys who are so young that they shouldn't even be trusted with the power of a remote controlled plane from the dollar store, let alone equipment worth millions of dollars. Idiots.

Then, after another second of stunned silence, one of them manages to have a stroke of genius and claps his buddies on the back, mumbling something like, "Come on, let's leave the old man to his armchair and cigars," and the rest of the gaggle slowly starts to trickle away, either to their quarters or off to another round of destroying government issue with their youthful incompetence. God, he never felt old until he came to 'Nam a year and a half ago, and that definitely isn't because he turned thirty here.

But at least all those kids are gone now and the only ones remaining are the guys he at least knows and likes, even though he'd never admit that.

So, anyway.

What the fucking fuck are they all staring at… oh. Oh wow. Huh. That's… not bad, actually. Quite a decent paint job on the door right to his – Kemp's door, then – with that larger than life hermit crab and everything. And he especially likes the new name tag above it.

CPT Matthew "Crabby Mc Hermit Crab" Kemp, 38th ARRS, TSN Air Base

Not bad for a couple girls, really. And… huh. "Isn't that Reece's handwriting?"

Cue everyone turning at him with faces ranging from irritated to realizing, like Dee, for example. "Now that you're saying it, yes, sir, I think it is."

Good old Dee. At least one guy here who appreciates his genius, at least now and then. Guy definitely got some sense of self-preservation at the CIA, if nothing else. Okay, that and some top notch flying, granted. Kemp, however… "That doesn't make any sense, sir. Why would Captain Reece write that on my door?"

"Maybe," Lorne helpfully supplies, "because Sergeant Meyers wrote something to the same effect on Jenna Wells's door."

Yeah, and that was because everyone thought none of the girls would be able to recognize the Sergeant's handwriting. Apparently, they didn't have to, anyway. Maybe the overgrown honey badger beneath the writing tipped them off, after all. He can't help grinning, even in his still half-asleep state.

And damn, if that isn't a grin threatening to break through Lorne's usually rigid self-control on his buddy's face. Dee, as always, manages to look absolutely impassive but he's pretty sure his CWO would laugh his ass off if it were just them. Or maybe just his CWO. Everyone thinks that Simon "Air America" DeLisle is a cold fish who doesn't even know how to spell "smiling" but he knows that's bullshit. Ever since that day he found out that it takes the contents of approximately one and a half bottles of Jack to make Dee crack a smile wide enough to be recognizable even for people who haven't known DeLisle for ages, he knows that it's all bullshit.

The only one not remotely looking amused is Crabby Mc Hermit Crab himself. "God, I just can't… I knew it was a bad idea! I told you it was a shitty idea. It was shittier than invading Russia in winter and I told you it was. Jesus fucking Christ."

Whoa, down boy! Bribing the guards and walking into the female BOQ to paint a snarling honey badger on Jenna Wells's door over night was, for a fact, a brilliant idea and that's not just because it was mainly his idea. Also, Kemp really shouldn't be so loud about it, seeing as he hadn't minded the idea in the slightest two nights ago. Okay so he'd been plastered up to his Captain's bars but really, Kemp is essentially a mini-Lorne – a lot more than Squeaky Simmons had ever been, to be fully honest – and he knows for a fact that Lorne watches over junior officers he actually likes like a hawk to make sure they never drink more liquor than they can hold.

Also, Kemp even remembered that he agreed to that scheme the day after so there's no reason for him to get his panties in a twist. He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but you still went along with it on your own free will so stop whining, Captain Mc Hermit Crab."

Holy shit, that's one hell of an evil eye. If he were the superstitious sort, he'd seriously just crossed himself but hey, at least it wheedled an amused snort out of Lorne so he can still call it a win, right? "Listen, you asshole…"

"That's still Major Asshole to you, Captain," aw, thanks Lorne and there really is no reason to laugh your ass off after that statement… goddammit.

Okay.

Alright.

That's one for Lorne but the only reason his Academy buddy could get that one through is because he just woke up after not enough sleep after a twenty-four-hour shift that involved too many dead soldiers. Otherwise, Lorne could never have shot him down like that. No really. He couldn't.

He tries not to growl. "Okay, now that we all had a good laugh… could we please get back to the issue?"

Mh.

Apparently not, since Lorne is still busy snorting and laughing about his damn joke and Kemp seems close to breaking down himself. Right. That means the big guns, then. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, staring thoughtfully at the hermit crab, only now seeing the little Air Force garrison cap with the Captain's bars it's wearing on his head and the name tag saying "Kemp" on its chest. If nothing else, the girls sure got an eye for details. And now for the big blow. "You know that the ready room's never locked, right, Captain?"

For a second or two, neither Kemp nor Lorne seem to have heard him and it's only on Dee's face that he can see any realization of what this is supposed to mean but then the snorting and laughing dies off and there's a moment of perfect silence in which you could hear a pin drop.

And then, then, you can see the "Oh my God, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck shit shit shit fuck" in Kemp's head on the Captain's face and he's ready to laugh his ass off when Kemp suddenly turns around and breaks into a sprint, out of the BOQ's front door like a bat out of hell. After a short look of questioning towards Lorne and then Dee, they wordlessly take off in a jog themselves, catching up with Kemp only shortly before reaching the shag with the chopper pilots' ready room. Kid must have been mighty scared if he managed to keep up the sprint all the way across the base to the Helipad.

The way Kemp nearly tears apart the door for its lock jamming for a moment is another tip off. Jesus, Crabby, get yourself some self-control, how bad can it be, really, he wants to say but it gets stuck somewhere between his head and his vocal chords when he sees the truly magnificent display smack dab the middle of the room, on the table he likes to play poker with Lorne and his crew when they're all on stand-by and the fixed wing guys are getting on his nerves again.

It's Kemp's helmet – or at least he hopes for the girls that it is but judging from the disbelieving look with which Kemp just opened his locker only to discover that it wasn't locked as it should have been, it's pretty safe to say that yes, that is his helmet – sporting a new design. On the left side, the tag "Crabby Mc Hermit Crab" is elaborately painted in bright, possibly iridescent Air Force Blue, again in a handwriting that distinctively reminds him of the notes Maureen sometimes leaves him and Dee when she had to go and help out at either the Heliport clinic or 3rd Field. On the right side… well.

"I… can't believe they fucking used fucking nail polish." Ah, that's why the colors of the hermit crab – this time it's something that looks like some shade of white for the shell and an unbelievably bright fucking pink for the crab itself – are so vivid and have a certain pearlescent shine to them, as well.

And if he's honest, he can't believe it either. He hadn't even pegged either of the three women to even own something as girly as nail polish. "Pretty remarkable, actually, sir." He can't believe that Dee would say that, either but then again, he'd gotten used to still being surprised now and then by his co-pilot years ago so that it was probably about time Dee did something like that, anyway. "They even used a coating varnish for the entire helmet. Impressive."

"Impressive, CWO?" Aw, come on, Kemp, really, it was just a… "You call this impressive? I call it a fucking felony against a fellow officer and…"

"You're right, Kemp, technically it is." Aw, no, Lorne, don't go ruining all his…

"Technically, sir?" Uh-oh, Kemp's face just went from white as a sheet to beet red. That just can't be good.

Lorne, inconceivably, just nods. Jesus fucking Christ, he'd never say that out loud but that guy's got some serious guts. "Technically, Captain. Because I'm pretty sure that us bribing the guards at the female BOQs to deface government property in the middle of the night wasn't exactly legal, either." He's just waiting for Kemp to point out to Lorne that he can hardly judge since Lorne was a part of that, as well but Lorne doesn't let him. "And aside from that, it really is pretty impressive that they managed to paint your door while we were away on that sortie and your helmet while we were at the debriefing. You gotta admit that, at least."

Wow, he'd never thought he live to hear Evan Lorne of all people say something like that. But then again, Lorne hadn't even batted an eye when he'd suggested that helmet graffiti op for Cadman's helmet. He just wishes Charlie had lived to see Lorne shed that stupid armor of stoic warrior that he'd tried to hide himself in after his divorce.

Kemp, for his part, looks like it physically pains him to say, "Alright, maybe it is, sir. Just don't tell them I said that."

Almost cute how Kemp thinks that won't find its way back to the girls only because he asked his boss for that. He never did specify who shouldn't tell them so he does his utmost not to remind the Captain of that. He wants to throw in just how nicely they managed to copy the big hermit crab on his door but Dee's faster than him, helpfully pointing out, "Uh, sir? Take a look at this, please?"

At first he wonders what his co-pilot is about but then Kemp carefully turns the helmet around a little and… well, hello, what is that doing there?

It's a little folded note taped to the helmet's side with a band aid – for some reason his final clue Maureen definitely had a part in this and it's ridiculous how that makes his heart swell with stupid pride for that prankster side she so rarely shows of herself – and after a moment of hesitation, Kemp takes it to unfold it, careful as if the note were part of a booby trap.

It takes the Captain less than a second to read it. And go back to as white as a sheet in his face while doing so. Jesus, what the fuck was in that note? He shares a short look with Lorne who then proceeds to mercifully pluck the note out of Kemp's hand and read it, just to give a short whistle that usually means that he's exceptionally impressed, then hands it over to him. He raises his eyebrows and then looks at it.

Your turn, Mc Hermit Crab.

That's all it says, in a nearly unreadable chicken scratch that he vaguely remembers to be Wells' from reading through her notes on that one Air Force Times piece she did on the Bou and well… there's really only one thing to tell Kemp and if Lorne doesn't do it, the duty definitely falls to him. He clears his throat, then tries to look very serious and even dead-pan at Kemp when he says, "Congratulations, Captain. You're officially fucked three ways from Sunday."

The Captain is silent for an awfully long moment, looking actually horrified as it slowly sinks in what just happened. Jenna Wells just challenged him to a prank war and she won the first battle. With the help of two more seasoned officers, granted but after having known prickly fierce Jenna Wells for about six months, he'd admittedly never given her credit for taking up the gauntlet for something as silly and idiotic and very much satisfying as pranking fellow officers in a war zone. His respect for her just managed to rise a notch.

"Well…" Kemp finally utters a little lamely after two or three more minutes of intently and a little dejectedly staring at his new helmet design.

"Well…" he adds, just for good measure.

Unfortunately, Lorne manages to get between them before Dee can follow suit just for the hell of it and says, "Captain, I hope you know what this needs."

Kemp, always a bit of an eager beaver, perks up and then offers, "A counter-offensive, sir?"

Lorne looks a bit like he's about to throw his hands into the air and also throw in a "Hallelujah!" just for shits and giggles but leaves it at a dead-pan, "So some of that stuff I tried to hammer into your head did manage to get stuck."

There's color in Kemp's face again, making him look awfully much like his new namesake as he clears his throat and gives them an almost demure, "Yes, sir."

Obviously pleased to have managed to tease that admission out of his co-pilot, Lorne looks into the round with folded arms and says, "So, any ideas?" in that same tone he used when he took over for some assignment or other at the Academy and for a moment, the unexpected homesickness for that good old time when they were still three instead of two and convinced that nothing bad could ever happen to them nearly overtakes him.

Thank God Dee interjects before he does something stupid and embarrasses himself, "Isn't McPherson quite good with his combat knife?"

Lorne frowns. "You mean the woodcarving?"

He rolls his eyes. "No, he means the skewering of people who dare and try to talk to him about his non-existent married life. Yes, of course he meant the woodcarving."

At that, Dee just nods and in one of those rare bouts of telepathic connection he sometimes seems to have with his co-pilot, he can see the first tentative sprigs of a plan take root in his mind. Woodcarving… yeah, they could totally work with that.

Naturally, the only one wholly oblivious to that plan is the newbie Kemp. "Sirs… what are you trying to get at here?"

He can't help and grin, first at Lorne and Dee who share it to their respective degrees and then actually going as far as draping his arm around the unsuspecting Kemp's shoulders when he says in that patronizing tone that company grades all over the world hate with all their guts, "Well Captain… let three very experienced officers teach you a few things about pranking…"

And then they proceed to letting in Captain Mc Hermit Crab into their plan and when it finally starts to make sense to little Crabby and he hears Charlie's disapproving voice in his head growing louder, he just knows that this is gonna be good.

No, he even knows that damn, this is gonna get better than that one time that he managed to coax Cadman and Maureen into painting that WAC crest on Lorne's helmet and the retaliation from Lorne in the form of him putting that quote from The U. S. Air Force on her helmet that he also managed to orchestrate.

He can just feel it in his guts that this is gonna be way more epic and he's so fucking ready for it that he doesn't even care of Kemp and Wells are. Those two rookies need to learn a lot anyway, and fuck, if he isn't just the right guy to teach them. What else is there to do when you still have six months of having to deal with soldiers dying in your air craft, Vietcong trying to down you on a daily basis and your favorite flight nurse regularly giving you decidedly illicit feelings in 'Nam left, anyway?