It's late in the afternoon and the camp is lazy and bad-tempered
from the heat. Not even the music playing over the PA system (good
old Radio Tokyo, mangling music like no other station can) is
cheering people up. And particularly not Charles Emerson
Winchester III, who has just stormed into the mess tent, snarled
something about not being able to get into his own tent because of
degenerates refusing to open the door, and flopped down to pretend
to die dramatically at a table. The Swamp is indeed closed, the
windowflaps down. Go away, it says, mutely, to the world. You
can't come in.

"Degenerates? Plural?" asks BJ, mock-affronted, and swipes some
stale toast as he glares at the dramatically dead Charles. "*This*
degenerate, you'll note, is conspicuously present." A beat, and a
grin. "For now. See ya, Charles." He heads out the doors,
cheerfully munching his toast and humming Harbor Lights, headed
for the Swamp. Moments later, he's knocking on the door - the
standard shave and a haircut, two bits.

There is no reply. There is, however, the particularly stealthy
silence caused by a person or persons deliberately not making any
noise on the offchance that whoever is disturbing them will give
up and go away.

"Hawkeye, let me in," says BJ, dry note in his voice. "I don't
care whether or not you're indecent, unless you're indecent with
someone else. Come on, you can't let Charles equate himself with
-me-, can you?"

Indecent with someone else, ahaha, ahahahaha, ahaha. Aha. What a
thought. Ahem. There is another pregnant pause. "...just a minute,
Beej." Frantic whispered conversation follows.

"Woooah, no no, that's *all* right, if you've got a good reason,
that's fine." A slight pause, and then BJ mutters, "Though you
might've gone for the supply tent, at least in broad daylight."

Well there wasn't anybody home and it was a spur of the moment
sort of thing and hey, I don't have to explain myself to you in my
thoughts, damn it. "No no, just a sec, fine." Grr. It's another
twenty seconds or so before Hawkeye exits the Swamp, pulling the
door very firmly closed behind him. He looks dishevelled, even for
him, adjusting the hang of his shirt, hair ruffled. "Thought you
were in the OR for another hour."

"Nah, Hellerman's guts were particularly anxious to stay inside
him, for some reason," replies Beej mildly, taking another bite of
toast. "Look, I -said- if you were indecent with someone else I
could just go away. I just felt the need to one-up Charles." A
beat. "Toast?"

"We weren't indecent yet." Not quite. Disgruntled, Hawkeye squints
around at the sunlight. Toast? "To beauty denied."

"And to beauty which has yet to fall to your conquest," adds BJ
solemnly, holding his own piece of dry toast up and passing one to
Hawkeye. "I can still go away, unless I've managed to completely
destroy the mood."

Hawkeye takes the toast and taps it lightly against BJ's. "May it
ever decrease." A pause, and the surgeon glances wistfully back at
the closed door. "You nuked it, Beej."

BJ Hunnicutt winces apologetically, shaking his head. "Sorry. Who
was it this time, or are you gentleman enough not to kiss and
tell?" A pause. "For once?"

"Did you see that Red Cross nurse who came in yesterday evening?"
Hawkeye is too pleased with himself to keep it private. "Angela.
She's got this incredibly interesting birthmark in the shape of a
yacht."

Blinking, BJ stares at Hawkeye for a second. "Where is it? No, I
don't want to know. Does she need me to go away so she can leave,
or did she split out the back?"

"Just a second." Hawkeye jogs around the tent and peers in at one
of the unflapped windows, shielding his eyes with his hands.
"...it's okay, she's gone. Woe is me."

Waving his hand around dismissively, BJ shakes his head again.
"Pish-tosh, to borrow a phrase. You got her once, you can get her
again." He stretches, stuffing the last of his toast in his mouth
and dry-swallowing it with a wince, then stifles a yawn and puts
on a southern accent. "Well, doctuh, y'all gwinter let a man pass,
so's he can fix hisself a drink?"

The picture of gloom, Hawkeye slouches over and pushes the door to
the Swamp open, heading for his bunk and rearranging the
bedclothes. He pauses and lifts the pillow to his face, inhaling
deeply, then clutches it to his heart. "Oh, Beej. Your timing."
Woe!

Fixing himself a glass of rotgut, BJ just gives Hawkeye a *look*.
"All you needed to do was say go away. You know I can't take a
hint," he grins. "That's the difference between a Winchester and a
Hunnicutt, see. Well, among other things."

"Yeah, well, it was the fifth knock at the door." Hawkeye
collapses onto his bunk to die, but settles for hugging the pillow
instead. "She was getting impatient. Damn Charles," he adds, with
venom.

Leaning against the stovepipe with his newly-fixed Beverage of
Doom, Beej raises his eyebrows. "Popular, aren't you," he
observes, and takes a sip.

Even though Hawkeye is DYING FROM FRUSTRATION, that remark earns
BJ a wicked grin. "You know it." Ahaha.

That gets a grin in return, and BJ reaches around to his back
pocket, pulling out the brown envelope he'd gotten on the Fateful
Day, now woefully battered. "People are always saying that
sweepstakes are useless," he smirks, waving it around.

"Beej, are you suddenly wealthy? Can you buy Charles? Please buy
Charles." Hawkeye watches the envelope without actually moving.

"Now, what would I do with a Charles, even if I -wanted- one?"
asks BJ, looking like the cat that ate the canary. He eyes the
envelope contemplatively. "Medical suggestions automatically
disqualified."

"Well - " BJ's qualifier heads Hawkeye off at the pass. "Rats.
He'd make a great throw-rug."

"You could do that anyway," Beej points out, using the envelope as
an illustrative device. "But I was thinking more along the lines
of Seoul. And a couple of day passes."

Okay, now you have his attention. Hawkeye forgets that he's dying
and sits up, the pillow falling unheeded to the floor. "I love
you!" he declares, carelessly.

BJ blinks, setting his glass down and clasping the envelope to his
heart defensively. "But what would Peg say?" Then he grins. "I'd
probably do better convincing Potter this time around, especially
considering my recent nocturnal wanderings. But you've gotta come
with me, since we both need passes..."

"I just *had* a pass. I used it already and I didn't get any more
than a half hour off." Darn Yossarian. "You ask for me, he likes
you more."

"Oh! Jeez, that's right, you don't even really need to ask, you
just need it...uh, re-approved, since you came right back." All
right. I owe you -that- much, Hawkeye. BJ smiles lopsidedly,
finishing off his drink, and puts the glass down again. "Pack your
bags, we're goin' on vay-cay-shun!"

When BJ gets there, the clerk's office is uninhabited. Klinger has
the afternoon off and vanished, saying something about exchanging
someone's silk bed linen for more pencils. The door to Potter's
office is wedged open, and the man himself can be heard humming.

Wandering in with a well-nigh ingratiating look on his face, BJ's
got his hands in his pockets, and employs a comfortable slouch.
"Hey Colonel," he starts, amiably. "You busy?"

"Nope!" Colonel Potter is, in fact, sitting at his desk reading
Stars and Stripes. He doesn't like it, but newspapers are
difficult to come by out here. "I'm happy to say everything is
rolling along just fine, aside from this blasted heat. I feel like
I've been toasted. Now what can I do for you, Hunnicutt?"

BJ grins. "Well, you could approve a couple of day passes to
Seoul," he suggests. "I won a sweepstakes and feel the need to
blow it on presents which I'll hopefully beat home, and Hawk never
got to spend his, on account of Ross accidentally shooting
Brigadier General Yossarian..."

"Whoa, hold on there." Potter looks up from the paper, crossing
his arms on the desk. He has some of that guy's whiskey in his
desk drawer. "Word is it's about to get busier'n an apple on an
anthill around here. We'll need you both."

"How busy? For how long?" There's a hint of desperation in BJ's
voice. "We've -been- busy, sir, and your apple's ants are in our
pants. I can't speak for Hawkeye, but *both* of us need a
break..."

"Well I don't know, son." Potter is unmoved. Or if he is moved,
he's not showing it. "We might have choppers coming in tonight, I
can't spare you."

The hint of desperation is the size of a rather large iron
sledgehammer, now. "Just a -day-, sir. Hawkeye's had crises when
I'm trying to sleep, and I've had crises when he's trying to
sleep, and we've been giving Charles crises every time he
breathes, because he's a walking crisis. Just a single Seoul-ful
day will cure us, and then we'll be ready for a stream of
choppers...*please*?"

Well, for Pete's sake. "All right! All right. But if I find out
you're making a drama out of a molehill, Hunnicutt, I won't be
best pleased, and I want to see you back here on the double
tomorrow afternoon, understood?"

"*Thank* you!" The thanks are genuine and heartfelt. BJ's tempted
to get down on his knees, but if Hawkeye's not here then the show
would be a little gratuitous. He settles for reaching for and
shaking Potter's hand emphatically. "You won't be sorry, Colonel,
and Charles'll be ecstatic for a night of peace!"

Charles ecstatic. Potter grimaces briefly. "Wonderful. Get goin
now before I change my mind!" He retrieves his hand.

BJ Hunnicutt gets out of there as fast as dignity allows, if only
barely, and heads for Klinger's stash. Day passes! Seoul! Lots of
cash!

Hawkeye meets him on his way out, and already knows what the
answer was. "I love that man. I'm gonna steal him a new jeep."
Hurray! "You're driving."

Rolling his eyes, Beej passes Hawkeye one of the little paper
passes, and stuffs his in his pocket, right next to his envelope.
"Nuh-uh, you get to drive. I got the cash and the passes,
remember? Go start the car, I'm gonna make sure I don't get kicked
outta that damn Officers' Club this time around." He sprints off
toward the Swamp.

But!...oh hey, that's a good point. Hawkeye glances down briefly
at the collar of his shirt, decides against it, and runs for the
motor pool. Deciding not to disturb Rizzo, he starts the jeep and
trundles it around to meet BJ by the camp's exit. "If you get shot
by a sniper, I'm gonna just leave you there."

"If I get shot by a sniper," says BJ, pinning his bars and his
caduceus to his collar even as he's clambering into the
passenger's side, "you have to move to California to take care of
Peg and Erin. So you better make sure I live, or you'll be
changing diapers..." "California?" Hawkeye shudders theatrically
as he gets going and steers the jeep onto the road. "I don't know
how anyone can live in California. Have you ever even *seen*
snow?"

Settling in, BJ grins. "Oh, is that what that cold stuff was,
falling out of the sky last Christmas?" He lightbulbs! and starts
digging around behind his seat, and pulls out a helmet, which he
drops at his feet. "Or was that exceptionally white, cold rain?"

The helmet gets a brief glance. Oh yeah. We're in the military.
"That wasn't *real* snow." Hawkeye takes a look at the chopper pad
as they blow past, the jeep already up to fifty miles an hour.
Empty. The best way for the pad to be. "Real snow buries your
house and drifts higher than your head."

More importantly, there -are- snipers out here. But screw it for
now, the wind feels nice in BJ's scruffy hair. He idly kicks at
the helmet, watching the scenery. "That's obscene, obfuscation of
a residence due to precipitation," he says, in Charles' accent.
Then he looks at Hawkeye skeptically. "You're kidding, right?
That's only in places like Alaska."

BJ gets a look of highly amused disbelief. "Alaska? You West
Coaster. Charles is right, the sunshine must addle your brain. I
remember one time it was so deep," Hawkeye deigns to watch the
road again, "Mom and Dad had to dig for three hours just so we
could get out of the house."

Giving Hawk a look in return that makes him look like he's been
sucking on a lemon, BJ shakes his head once more. "That sounds
like -way- too much snow. I'll take it where it's nice and warm,
or at the very worst, mildly chilly and rainy." He gets this
snooty expression, "Paradise does not addle the brains, thank you
very much. That's booze's job." Grin.

The grin is returned. "Paradise. You've never seen autumn in New
England. Philistine."

"Well, I'll have to make a note to stop by sometime in the fall,"
returns BJ cheerfully, slouching into his seat and watching the
brush whiz by again. "As long as you promise to try a warm and
sunshiny Christmas."

Autumn. Dammit. Hawkeye makes a face. "That's just not right,
Beej. You know that. Something in your soul must yearn for a white
Christmas, preferably one that kicks off in October."

"I've been perfectly happy in the sun for as long as I can
remember, Hawk." Grinning, BJ drapes his arm over the outside of
his door, catching the wind in his open palm. "You don't ask
Australians if they think it's strange to have snow in August, do
you?"

"You don't have snow any time." Hawkeye doesn't care what the man
says, California weather is unnatural. "You barely have rain." Not
*proper* rain, anyway. "Something in you has to know thaaAAAAH,
what the hell is that?!" The jeep swerves alarmingly as he bounces
halfway to his feet, twisting around to try and look behind him in
the jeep.

"I don't know, I don't know!" yells BJ, immediately turning around
in his own seat, on his knees and hanging over the back of it,
squinting back at the road. "Did you hit something? What did you
do?"

Whatever's worrying Hawkeye, it's not on the road, it's in the
jeep, and he has a brief fit trying to stand on the brake without
sitting down again. "Nothing, I didn't do anything, something
moved!" The jeep slews to a halt in the middle of the road. It's a
dangerous place to be, but the heck with that. Hawkeye exits the
vehicle with alacrity. "Eeeuuughhh, rat, it's a rat!" He hasn't
seen it, he just knows.

BJ just cracks up. That's it, he just collapses into his seat,
laughing.

"BJ! Don't just sit there, get it!" Hawkeye is in agony, not
really wanting to be a target but not about to get in the damn
jeep again until whatever moved is gone. He laughs, though it has
an edge of 'you bastard' about it. "Come *on*."

"Oh...god," laughs BJ, wiping at his eyes, trying to see through
his squinting, maybe locate the errant rodent. He digs around,
still half-lame from the massive gigglefit he's afflicted with,
then feels fur. "Oho! Here we go..."

Oh, he's gonna throw it out here, isn't he. Hawkeye backs up to
the edge of the road and watches, all anxiety, almost hopping from
foot to foot. "Don't throw it out here! Don't kill it." Now he's
just being picky.

"Oh, so I should just keep it in my pocket all the way to Seoul?
They have enough rats, they don't need another one," grins BJ,
holding it up by the skin on the back of its neck, so it can't
bite him, but he doesn't hurt it. Radar would be proud. "Aw, I
think it likes you. Let's name it Charles."

Oh, ick, ick, ick! "Don't *hold* it, BJ! It might bite you. It
might have rabies." And most importantly it's disgusting. Hawkeye
stares at the animal in fascinated horror. He prefers the dead
ones which turn up every so often in the Swamp, at least they
don't wiggle.

This one wiggles a lot, but try as it might, it can't reach its
head around enough to get at BJ's hand. "Don't hold it? I could
put it down," he offers, lowering his hand back down to the
driver's seat and grinning like a bastard.

"I'm gonna kill you." Hawkeye can't physically back off any more
without abandoning the road altogether, and it looks like he's
considering it. Possible landmines be damned, that's a *rat*. "I
am actually gonna kill you."

"Well, make up your mind, Hawkeye! Do you want me to kill it or
toss it out of the jeep? I'd rather not kill it, if it's all the
same to you." BJ turns his hand around, so he's looking the rat in
the face. "You know," he says to it, "you look an awful lot like
our old tent-mate."

Oh for God's sake. "BJ!" is the plaintive cry from the roadside.
"Get rid of it!" Make it disappear.

"I'm changing its name. I think Frank suits it better than
Charles," muses BJ, milking this for all it's worth. But he
finally has mercy. "Well, Frank, it's been nice knowing you, but
it seems our friend Hawkeye takes exception to your continued
presence. Nothing personal, understand." He grins back across the
road, then tosses the rat into the brush on the opposite side from
Hawkeye.

Finally. Hawkeye stalks back to the jeep and makes a point of
pausing to examine the interior for further rodents before
dropping back into the driver's seat. He shudders theatrically.
"Brrr."

BJ Hunnicutt just grins. "No no," he corrects, "vroom."

"Bastard," says Hawkeye, amiably enough. The rat is gone. That's
the important thing. He accelerates, the engine having run all
this time. "Guh. Rats. Give me an island without rats or mice and
I'm home."

"Even if it's an island where it's even sunny and warm for
Christmas?" asks BJ innocently, propping his feet up on what
little dashboard he can find, undoubtedly doing horribly things to
his back.

"...well, I'd be willing to consider it!" Hawkeye accelerates
further. The jeep shudders its way up to sixty. "And Radar *likes*
them. He'll kill them but he likes them."

"Well, everyone's got to have their little kinks." Oh, innocent as
ever. BJ shifts in his seat again, this time so he can bounce
impatiently on his seat. "Are we there yet?"

Oh, now that's just unpleasant. Hawkeye spares BJ a glance. How
does he get away with saying things like that and when I say them
it just sounds as obscene as it is? "If you don't behave yourself
I'll turn this jeep right around."

BJ grins. "But daaaaad...anyway, dammit, I should've brought
something to drink."

"Oh, no, no, it can wait until we get there." Gasp. Hawkeye has
Learned Something recently.

"What? I'm not the one driving." Minor petulance. It's a good
point, too. But it's also moot, since BJ didn't bring a blessed
thing.

"No, but if I get hit by a sniper or something, you'd be sorry."
Hawkeye didn't bring anything either. He could use a drink to calm
his nerves.

"Yeah, all right," agrees the other surgeon begrudgingly, then
stares at the landscape again. "So drive faster!"

"This is as fast as it goes! You want to get out and push?"

"Me? Push? But the immaculate conception resulted in a laborless
birth!" protests BJ, waving his hands around. "I'm so holy we
should just -appear- in Seoul. I need a drink."

"You need an exorcism." Hawkeye ducks to avoid BJ's gesturing and
grudgingly speeds up a bit more. "Ratkiller Hunnicutt."

"Har-de-har-har." No, he's not sulking. BJ just hates being en
route, anywhere, unless it's on the way home. "I didn't kill that
rat! It's living a happy rat life in the ratty bushes on the side
of the road now."

By contrast, Hawkeye likes being en route and distrusts the
arrival. "Yeah, it probably climbed under the jeep and is hanging
on with its little rat claws, waiting for the right moment to bite
through the brake cable."

"If it is, it's only out of love for you. Couldn't you see in his
beady little eyes? That was adoration, Hawk. Pure, unadulterated
adoration."

Oh my God. "...shut up!"

"And its name is Frank! Frank loves you, Hawk! Whatever would
Margaret think? Or _Louise_?"