I must ask to be forgiven for the somewhat out-of-character segment between Tully and Hitch at the beginning, but I wanted to give my theory a try in writing. I like to think that, had they been given the chance of a 3rd season, our boys would have developed a little more and we might have seen what the Rats do in their off time-goofing around like a bunch of regular old guys and whatnot. (Except Moffitt. Moffitt does not goof.) As for the little skirmish between the two privates, I wanted to try my hand at giving them some sibling-type rivalry/squabbling to their friendship in their off hours when they can afford to play-fight. . .plus it's a bit of foreshadowing. And to be honest, silent, observant Tully just seems to be the kind of guy who really knows how to push people's buttons and then act innocent about it.

"Moffitt!"

The Brit sighed, glancing up from his teacup. It had sounded like Tully who'd been calling. That in itself was odd enough, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He ignored it.

"Moffitt!"

"Moffitt!"

Muttering annoyedly to himself, he put down the teacup and stormed out of the tent. "What?" he snapped. Then he paused. "What—?" he said again, but all his annoyance had replaced itself with sheer bewilderment.

Hitch had Tully trapped between the two jeeps, holding a spare M2 barrel like he planned to use it on somebody's head. The Kentuckian had both hands up placatingly, but on seeing Moffitt raised one in a diplomatic gesture, attempting to get help. Instead of intervening, Moffitt only crossed his arms.

"What are you two doing?" he asked.

"He's turned on me," Tully explained, retreating a step as Hitch advanced. "No warnin' or anything. I dunno why."

"He insulted my girl," Hitch protested, pointing the spare barrel accusingly at Tully's face and giving it a shake in self-righteous indignation. "And he's not gonna get away with it!"

"Oh?" Moffitt scratched his nose thoughtfully, enjoying the scene before him. "Which girl, Hitch?"

"Whaddaya mean, 'which girl'?" Hitch sputtered, looking stunned. "The only girl I'm interested in."

"You're interested in every girl," the Brit pointed out. Hitch dropped the barrel, giving Moffitt a horrified and betrayed stare.

"That's what I said," Tully added, snatching up the barrel before his fellow private could weaponize it again. "And he tried to break my head in."

"I did not—"

"You had better not try to break in mine," Moffitt told him, glaring threateningly.

He recouped instantly, looking almost angelic in his sudden innocence. "Oh no, Sarge, I would never—"

Tully snorted, looking as elated as he ever got. "You've got him mad at you now," he informed Hitch with a self-satisfied air.

"I'm mad at both of you," Moffitt snapped. "Do you know how hard it is to relax out here in this desert?"

"No. . ." they said.

"Well, it's hard enough without having to drop whatever I'm doing and dash about saving you two from each other's clutches. So if you don't mind," he paused and they both flinched, "I'm going back to my tent and if I hear so much as one peep from either of you—"

He left the threat hanging unfinished in the air and stalked away.

He had just sat down on his cot again, sourly looking at the cold tea in his cup, when he heard someone calling him. Again.

"Hey, Moffitt!"

He resisted the urge to break a chair over the head of whoever had just entered his tent. He turned around slowly, and then sighed. "Troy," he said, thankful he'd decided against the chair. "What brings you here?"

The sergeant sat down on the edge of the cot. "They driving you crazy again?" he asked.

Moffitt exhaled slowly through his nose. "Is that what this is about? Are you concerned for my welfare again, Troy?"

He'd sounded more snappish than he intended, but Troy didn't bat an eye. "You can always just tell me, you know," the sergeant said. "I'll make sure they don't bother you."

"Tell you?" Moffitt scoffed. "And miss out on the pleasure of strangling the both of them myself?"

Troy smirked. "They are a handful. Lack of activity's getting to them; everyone else got bored, and they got skittish."

Moffitt snorted. He was getting antsy too, but it was no excuse to act like an idiot. "Especially Hitch," he muttered. "That boy. . ."

"Don't even say it," Troy interrupted. "I know." He eyed Moffitt as he spoke. "They get on your nerves a lot, but you like them both anyway."

Moffitt sighed. "All right, Troy," he acquiesced. "But don't you dare tell them I admitted to it."

Troy laughed. "Your secret's safe with me," he assured the Brit. He got up and left, glancing briefly back over his shoulder to say, "I'll leave you to your tea."

"Which is now cold," Moffitt said, but nobody heard him.