- In Love And War -
Chapter Sixteen: Plans and Punishment

As punishment for conduct unbecoming of officers, BJ and Trapper were put on KP duty for a week. Igor was downright giggly at the prospect of being on the other end of the ladle, and the entirety of the enlisted personnel was looking forward to being able to subtly (or not so subtly, in most cases) insult or otherwise mock their superior officers, even if Trapper and BJ were so well-liked—it was the principle of the matter: enlisted men rarely got the opportunity to see the officers knocked down off the pedestals we apparently stood on. I was rather enjoying my self-imposed solitude, and if I started to feel a little lonely, there was always Margaret. (I'd been spending a great deal of time with her, much to the enjoyment of the 4077 rumor mill.) Frank was certainly profiting from my vow to ignore my two friends, but Father Mulcahy expressed concern that I was being too harsh on them. Before I could answer, Potter jumped in with something to the effect of "they deserve a lot worse than what Pierce and I are giving them, the way they've been acting lately," with which I agreed wholeheartedly. If only Potter knew the half of it. Though if he knew the half of it, I probably wouldn't still be here to know the half of it with.

I was in the Swamp at the end of their week of dual punishment, idly looking through one of my nudist magazines and sipping a martini, when two shadows fell across me. I looked up to see everyone's new favorite kitchen personnel looking down at me with smiles, which was enough to make me raise an eyebrow.

"We've come to an agreement," Trapper announced.

I allowed my second eyebrow to join the first.

"We've realized the error of our ways," BJ said.

I folded my magazine and set it aside.

Beej continued, "We haven't been very fair to you. And when it comes down to it—"

"—you're the one that matters."

I was beginning to sense something not quite right. There was something in their tones…

"So," BJ said, his voice the essence of logic, "we came up with two options, and you'll have to choose the one you like best."

"We thought it all out very carefully."

"Option One—"

"This was my idea," Trapper interrupted proudly.

"—we cut you in half."

"I wanted to do top and bottom, but we decided left and right'd be better. He gets the left side, since he already damaged it."

"It's only fair."

"Or there's Option Two."

A pointed pause, and I was almost afraid to ask, "What's Option Two?" I winced in anticipation.

"In Option Two," BJ said grandly, "we flip a coin."

"But that's only the start."

"The winner of the coin-toss gets you for five hours of the first day, and after the first five hours, we rotate you every two hours. The second day, the loser of the original coin-toss gets you for five hours, with a rotation every two hours following that."

"On the third day, the winner gets you for the whole day; loser gets you on the fourth day."

"It starts to get a little complicated on the fifth day—"

"Starts?!" I exclaimed, but BJ ignored me.

"We flip the coin again, and this time the loser gets you first, for exactly two hours and twenty-four minutes, and we rotate for that same amount of time."

"We calculated all this based on an eighteen-hour day," Trapper explained. "It doesn't quite come out even, but it just means that one of us gets three extra minutes with you somewhere."

"How sensical." I had to fight to keep an edge of hysteria out of my voice.

"We haven't even gotten to the good part yet," Trapper said with a grin. And to BJ: "You wanna start it?"

"Sure." To me: "Since you wanted us to be more friendly, we've created a special plan for day six."

"It even has options."

"Sub-option Two-A: We get a deck of cards, and have you draw one at random. If it's a black suit and below ten—"

"Aces are high."

"—I get you for the day; if it's a red suit and below ten, Trapper gets you."

"If it's black and a ten or a jack, we flip a coin, and the winner gets first dibs on a two-hour rotation. If it's a red ten or jack, we have a rock-paper-scissors tournament—"

"Four out of seven wins."

"—and the winner gets you for three and a half hours, and then we switch you off every hour after that."

"Now, if it's a queen of any suit, we strip down and wrestle in the compound. Whoever wins is really the loser, and the real loser wins you for the day."

"If it's a black king—"

"Here's the part you'll like."

"—BJ gets to fuck me. If it's a red king, I get to fuck him."

"It'll create a kind of camaraderie between us, so we don't fight as much."

"And if it's an ace of any suit, we both get to fuck you together."

"Which will teach us to work together and cooperate."

"And then, for Sub-option Two-B—"

"STOP!" I shouted, clapping my hands over my ears.

"But we haven't even finished day six!" BJ complained.

"He's no fun if he hasn't had his nap yet."

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop!"

And they did. They stood, quietly, gazing down at me with expressions of complete innocence, and I stared back up at them, for once at a loss for words. The verbose Hawkeye, speechless.

"Which option d'you like best?" Trapper finally asked, tentatively.

I glared, pushed myself up, and stomped from the tent. As I left, I heard BJ say, "I don't think he liked our ideas very much."

A few hours and a few drinks later, I came stumbling back into the Swamp. All the lights were off, and I could hear Trapper snoring softly, but that wasn't about to stop me—I'd gotten a whole speech prepared. "You two," I shouted, and heard cots creak as they woke up suddenly, "are idiots! You're immature and childish and you don't care and—"

"Shut up!" Frank wailed, and at the same time hands grabbed my arms, and I was dragged backwards, outside, flailing and shouting until a hand was clapped over my mouth.

"Hawkeye," BJ said softly, calmly, above me, "breathe."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Trapper demanded helpfully.

I tore my arms out of their hands and stumbled backwards, nearly fell, slapped their hands away when they tried to catch me. "You two are what's wrong with me!"

Frowning, BJ asked, "Is this about before—?"

"Yes!"

"Hawk, we were just messing around."

"I know! That's the point! I'm the only one taking any of this seriously!" I was shouting loud enough that most of the camp could probably hear me, but I didn't care. I was drunk and angry and tired and sick of the way they were acting.

"Hawk," Trapper said, his voice calm, reasonable, "BJ and I've worked things out, like you wanted. We figured out a way we could both be happy, and still have you be happy. We were just joking around with you before. So can you try to be not angry for a minute or two?"

"Huh?" I asked blankly. Alcohol always seemed to drown a little of my intelligence which, I suppose, is its purpose. My mind seemed to be moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was rushing by, which made for confusion and a mother of a headache.

"We're not going to fight anymore," BJ said patiently. "We agreed that it was stupid and pointless, and harmful to your health. So, we're going to share you, peacefully."

I'd had a speech prepared. A whole mini-rant that could have easily evolved into a fully-fledged rant under the right circumstances. I'd been very proud of it. And now they'd just ruined it, because they'd already made peace. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

"C'mon," Trapper said gently. "It's late. You need to sleep. If you want, you can beat us up in the morning, okay?"

They took my arms again and escorted me to my bunk, tucked me in, shut Frank up when he started to say something about my alleged alcoholism, and both wished me and each other cheerful "good night"s. And I was feeling more confused than ever.

TBC