As always I own nothing, make no money from this and bow before the genius that is Chuck Lorre, Bill Prady, Steven Molaro, and all of the writers, actors and crew that bring the TBBT to life. Thank you.

No good deed goes unpunished

I knew who it was before the Lieutenant handed me the sat-phone. Major Wilkes was not amused, I can still hear the tautness in his voice when he said "Holy crap on a cracker Hofstadter all you had to do was get on the damn plane. Instead you conscript a light platoon, and the war hero nephew of the Governor of Hawaii. Are you trying to kill me?" . Seems I had drawn attention to his plan to slip me into Hawaii, unnoticed, and seconder me to the clinic. Now reporters were waiting for the plane to land with questions like "why is the governors nephew being shuttled in a Gulfstream when there is public transport he could have taken? Why are a platoon of soldiers being secretly transported to Pearl Harbor? Why were their families not notified of their return". You get the general idea. Realizing my actions would make the Major and the Military look like they were wasting tax payer dollars, I threw out a scenario he might based on comments I had heard in the bull sessions the soldiers had. Staff Sergeant Rodriguez was heading home on compassionate leave to be at the bedside of his dying great grandfather. The great grandfather was a retired Gunnery Sergeant who had fought at Iwo Jima. Tell the public that General (your name here) upon hearing that Rodriguez had been stranded due to engine trouble, had arranged for the soldiers to deadhead in a C-37B that had been scheduled to return to Pearl Harbor anyway. Nice and neat. Wilkes jumped on it but had to check the facts before any announcement could be made. His parting words were more of a prayer than a request that I just keep my head down from then on. I did.

When the plane landed Rodriguez was swept out of the plane and into a waiting staff car which, with a police escort, quickly delivered him to the hospital. I was stashed in the sleeping compartment while the Captain and the others "de-assed" the plane. Once the plane was in the hangar, I was escorted to a waiting military short bus for delivery to the Kapule Medical Centre. On board was Lance Corporal Everett smiling , feet up and ready to travel. To my surprise the bus left the base and headed down the coast road. The view was spectacular so I pointed out a particularly beautiful stretch of beach and the Corporal declined to look saying if she never saw sand again she would be delighted. The rest of the trip to the clinic was quiet.

When we pulled off of the highway we went down a narrow paved road thru cultivated fields that had people busily tending them. At the end of the road was the most beautiful old plantation house I had ever seen. Large front porch that had lots of small tables and lounge chairs for those so inclined (and quite a few were that day). The inside looked like a well kept up home rather than a medical centre. I was informed by the orderly that was checking us in that the plantation actually belonged to the Kapule family. Makoa Kapule had opened his home to military personnel who were displaced or slightly wounded during the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Sadly enough Mr. Kapule had lost both sons when the Arizona was sunk. He continued to offer the plantation house for the care of the wounded even after the war ended. Realizing that if he left the plantation house to the government it would end up being sold or made a hotel for visiting dignitaries, he arranged with his attorney to lease the house and its surrounding beach and gardens to the Military for one dollar a year as long as the place was used as a treatment centre for Military personnel. The Navy had been leasing it ever since though all the branches of the Military were treated there. Kamp Kapule, as the attendant liked to call it, was a great facility for those needing prosthetics and wound treatment. It was also a great place to de-tox before returning home.

I was being escorted between rooms to present my papers and to meet the people that would be working with me when I walked in on an argument between two staff members. One of the new patients was going to need special bedding because he did not move around at night which could lead to skin breakdown and eventually bed sores. There was only one dolphin bed available (I looked that one up they were original designed so the military could transport dolphins safely for various tasks they were trained to do). The bed was motor controlled and a computer would increase or decrease the pressure in one section of the bed , while maintaining a consistent pressure everywhere else. Basically it was a Fluid Immersion Simulation that had been highly praised for use for those patients that were bed ridden. The patient currently using it was doing so only because it was the largest medical bed they had available when the 6'3" Marine had arrived. Being good with spatial relationships I suggest they give the Marine the Queen size bed I was using and give me the smaller (by the Marine's standards) bed. Problem , solution. Everyone was happy. The whole chain of events got me to thinking so I casually got into a conversation with one of the older floor nurses (the younger ones tended to be leery of conversations with the male patients). What I found was that they were well staffed but due to old equipment and under funding they could not purchase the proper beds to care of additional patients. I found that most of the staff was proud of what they did and resented the fact that beds were keeping soldiers from getting the care they deserved.

Knowing that my email accounts were probably monitored I logged into one of the public laptops setup in the lobby and created a new account for Michelangelo Loletta (I am sure Mrs. Loletta would approve) and sent an email to an old email address my Uncle had used to accept orders or to deal with financial arrangements. They had always been monitored by Mr. Sipes so I put in an order to purchase 20 dolphin beds and asked for terms on the purchase. Even if someone was monitoring Uncle Floyd's email accounts it would appear to be just an email sent to the wrong vendor.

An hour later I got a reply that while they had no beds to sell, I could lease 20 of them for 3 years (which included maintenance and upkeep provided by one of their technicians. He gave me the price range and reminded me that the final location would affect the lease price. I replied back to him that it would be for our facility on state road 50 in Arizona. I asked him if my credit would be able to cover the lease. His reply back was that my credit would more than cover the lease but that he suggested shipping it from the warehouse in Utah or Oklahoma. He would begin the process and would wait for the final order before shipping the goods. I knew Mr. Sipes was well versed on the 2nd World War and me mentioning SR 50 (Hawaii was the 50th state) Arizona and he mentioning Utah, and the Oklahoma meant he knew I was in Honolulu. The man would have made a great spy. Now all I had to do was figure out a way to give the beds to the facility without running the risk of the beds being sent to some military country club hospital so some general could get a good nights sleep. I was out walking because that always helped me think when it struck me. If I could get the Kapule family to make the beds part of the lease, then the beds would remain where they were needed. I could set up a trust to pay the Kapule's the lease cost each year. It just might work. It was late so I returned to my room and turned in for the night.

I was woken up by sound of a woman, in my room, swearing. I was in a private room so I knew it was not one of the night staff. I flicked on the light. In front of me stood Marine Lance Corporal Colleen Everett and all she was wearing was her prosthetic leg. She told me not to read anything into this and started taking off her prosthetic leg. Apparently she liked to be on top and she had not quite gotten used to wearing it during sex. As I lay there looking up at her kneeling form I realized she was beautiful but in a way I was not used thinking of. She was 5" taller than me, well muscled, and probably had 40 pounds on me. She pulled the sheet off of me and commented about the spider man boxers. Then as she straddled my body she looked down at me. She knew that I wanted this too but she told me that after we left this clinic we would never see each other again. She was satisfying an itch, nothing more, so if I wanted out I needed to say something now. I looked up at her, fearless warrior but also a woman afraid of rejection because of her wounds. I tried to talk but gave it up. I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a deep kiss. The prayer to Bacchus, the god of joy, was repeated several times that night. Colleen visited me almost nightly and not once did I have a nightmare. Thank you Lance Corporal Colleen Everett where ever you are.