FIC: Company Sock Wash

[amberdowny.livejournal.com]

Title: Company Sock Wash
Author: SP
Rating: 13+
Pairing: B.J./Hawkeye, of course
Disclaimer: I don’t own MASH. If I did, it would’ve been even slashier than it already was, if that’s humanly possible. And I just realized, I stole their private place from myself and my A-Z fic.
Summary: Post-ep/missing scenes from “Last Laugh”. Just what exactly transpired at that company sock wash?
A/N: So I watched “Last Laugh” tonight. Just realized exactly how slashy it was. So then I thought, company sock wash=euphemism for…? So yay, fic!

“Colonel, I was here ten days ago.”

I glance at B.J., and then chime in, “With me.” B.J. looks back at me as I add, “We were having a company sock wash.” We both nod in agreement.

Whether he didn’t buy it or he was looking for more witnesses I don’t know, but Colonel Potter immediately asks, “Who was there?”

I immediately reply, “The dirty sock crowd,” while B.J. gestures vaguely.

That damned M.P. breaks in and insists that they need “the prisoner” back by a certain time--and the colonel agrees!

“What do you mean, ‘okay’?” B.J. demands, outraged. “You’re going to listen to a naked general when I’ve got wounded in post-op?”

I don’t bother listening to the Colonel’s reply. I’m trying to think of a story to spin for evidence that isn’t the truth, because it’s great evidence…to get us both slapped with a blue discharge.

---

“So,” I said.

“So?” B.J. replied.

“We shouldn’t get any more casualties tonight.”

“True.”

“And all of our patients did well today.”

“Also true.”

“So that leaves us with a night off.”

Beej nodded. “Yes, it does.” He smiled at me. “How were you planning to occupy yourself?”

“With you, I hope.” I gave him a smile of my own.

“Ah. Well, your hopes are answered, because that sounds like a wonderful idea.” He stood up and nodded toward the door of the Swamp. “Shall we?”

I stood as well. “Yes, let’s.”

We headed out the door and strolled towards the edge of camp opposite Rosie’s. We climbed a little hill and sat on the blanket already there.

“You know, I’m so glad we went exploring last week,” I commented, leaning back on my elbows.

“Mm, me too,” B.J. agreed, leaning back as well. “So, Dr. Pierce, what exactly were you hoping to do with me tonight?”

I flashed a predatory grin. “Oh, use your imagination.”

“I have a very vivid one,” B.J. warned me.

I moved then, leaning over him placing my hands to either side. “I am very vivid in reality,” I answered, then leaned down and covered his lips with mine. He raised one hand and tangled it in my hair.

After a few moments, I leaned more heavily on B.J., and he lowered himself so that he lay fully on the ground. He took advantage of having both hands free and tugged at my tee-shirt. We broke our kiss long enough to get both our shirts off, then resumed it immediately. His hands moved to the waistband of my pants, and then--

---

“We’ll cover for you, Beej,” I say suddenly. The duty logs will have to be enough.

Our little party of five moves outside, where Beej hops into the M.P.s’ jeep. “This whole thing is so stupid!” he exclaims angrily.

I make a witty reply, while at the same time brooding over whether the duty logs will be enough, because I still haven’t thought up a good story.

The jeep roars away, and the Colonel calls after it, “We’ll be about an hour behind you!”

“I’ll come on a conjugal visit!” I add. My own personal way of wishing him luck.

“Knock off the didoes, Pierce. We’ve got work to do. I’ll need you as a witness.”

I was afraid of that. Well…maybe this general will buy the sock wash story. Or maybe he’ll know it’s a flimsy excuse for something else and honor it…because really, dictating in the bathtub? That’s the worst excuse for anything I’ve ever heard.

I take off to find some duty logs and to change. I find the logs easily, but finding all the pieces of my nice uniform is a little more difficult. I grab my hat as I hurry out of the Swamp, then toss it into the jeep before I swing myself in.

I listen to the Colonel’s insanely complicated directions, then mutter, “I’ll just follow the yellow brick road,” and take off.

God, this general is dense.

“I have Captain Pierce as a witness,” the Colonel tries.

“He was with me in surgery,” I interject.

B.J. nods. “I took some shell fragments out of a South Korean soldier.”

“Right. That corporal who gave you the water buffalo horn for an ashtray.”

The general is not convinced. “What time were you two supposed to be in surgery?”

B.J. rifles through some papers. “Uh, right here. Um, 0600 to 1117.”

“Plenty of time to get to Seoul by chopper,” the general comments.

Well, here goes my attempt at a cover up. “He never left camp. We had a company sock wash that night.”

“Colonel, did you witness this…company sock wash?” Oh lord, he actually buys it.

Colonel Potter responds diplomatically, “Uh, it was for the younger crowd.” The general looks incredulous. “General, we have overwhelming evidence,” he adds.

The General really doesn’t have much hope to win this thing. I tune out as he presents his flimsy evidence. Colonel Potter even turns his own logic back on him. Finally, B.J. puts on the ridiculously too-big hat and the General has to face it. He’s got the wrong guy. I roll my eyes at B.J., who gives me an ‘I know’ look back.

More paperwork, and we can leave. Finally. The moment we get to the jeep, I take off my jacket, loosen my tie, and undo the top button of my shirt.

“I hate dressing up,” I mutter, then start up the jeep and take off.

We drive a few miles, and then Colonel Potter tells me to pull over and tells B.J. to pull out a bottle.

“Practical jokes,” I say, as the Colonel opens the bottle and takes a swig. “You can have them. That miserable Bardonaro.” I take the bottle from him and tip it back, guzzling down five or six swallows.

“Hey hey hey hey hey!” B.J. protests after the third one, nudging my shoulder.

“Easy, Hawkeye, easy!” the Colonel orders.

I pass the bottle back to Beej, saying, “Don’t talk to the driver while he’s drinking.” It’s funny. Before Korea, chugging back that much of that stuff at a time would have my stomach and my gag reflex protesting. Now it’s just like water…well, sort of.

We continue to talk about practical jokes for awhile. As the level of liquid in the bottle gets lower and lower, our levels of inebriation get higher and higher. Finally, with the bottle empty, we head back to camp.

I swerve in and park the jeep. B.J. and I stumble back to the Swamp, after getting the Colonel on his way.

And there’s Bardonaro, sitting between our cots.

“Oh, Leo! Oh, you!” B.J. scolds.

“You creep!” I add.

“Hey, look, fellas. I’m really sorry about the General Fox thing, okay?”

B.J. faces off with Bardonaro, or as much as he can while weaving. “Sorry don’t feed the bulldog.”

“No, seriously,” Bardonaro pleads. “I’m very sorry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t know General Fox was right next door.” He and Beej laugh, but I still fail to see the humor.

“B.J.?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have my travel orders back?”

“Travel orders?” B.J. manages. “What travel orders? I haven’t seen any travel or--Have you seen any travel orders?” he asks, turning to me.

“I saw my first robin,” I suggest.

“Come on, Beej. I haven’t seen my folks for two years.”

Ooh, neither have I. Besides, that’s my nickname for him. B.J. seems to feel the same, because we both give mock-sympathy.

“Come on, come on!”

B.J. gives in. “All right, all right.”

“No, no, no, no. Don’t do it,” I tell B.J.

“It’s okay,” he replies. “On one condition,” he adds.

“Yo.”

“We shake hands and promise no more practical jokes.”

He looks pained. “Okay, okay, deal. Gimme the papers.”

“Don’t forget the handshake,” I remind them.

“Right, right,” B.J. says, pulling out the papers and extending his hand. Then he suddenly lifts it away--and a good thing, because Bardonaro has the stupid buzzer on again.

B.J. hands over the papers, muttering, “Leo, you s…ha.” He trails off, chuckling to himself.

Son of a bitch? I try to mentally project, but it doesn’t work.

“Hey, how do I get to Kimpo Airport?” We start to give directions, but then the creep clarifies, “No, I don’t have any wheels.”

“Wheels! Take our jeep. Parked in front of the hospital. All gassed up.”

“All gassed up,” I echo.

Bardonaro grins. “I don’t know how to thank you guys.”

“I do. Blow,” I say snarkily. And he does.

B.J. sinks onto his cot and lies down. “Oh, oh, Hawkeye, the tent is spinning around.”

“Which way?” I ask, sinking onto my own cot.

“Cl…ockwise,” Beej replies, making a circle in the air.

“Mine’s going counterclockwise. Maybe together we’re sober,” I suggest brightly. I begin to fiddle with my hat and Radar comes in with some mail for B.J.

“Bardonaro!” Beej yells, standing.

“Bardonaro, you creep!” I chime in, though I don’t know why. B.J. stumbles over to my cot. “Look what he did. Look what I got,” he says, flopping beside me and showing me the paper. “A bill from that hotel in Seoul, in my name, for damages--five hundred and eighty bucks.” He starts laughing.

It’s contagious, and I laugh too. Then I realize. “What the hell are we laughing at?”

“Well,” B.J. begins, looking at his watch, “He’ll be walking back here in about an hour.”

I pause. Frown. “He’ll be walking back?”

“The only thing gassed up in that jeep was us,” B.J. replies innocently. Then we burst out laughing again.

“Ohh, God,” B.J. says, stopping his laughter and leaning sideways onto my shoulder. “It’s still spinning.”

I rest my head on B.J.’s. “That happens when you drink,” I explain slowly.

“Mm. I know. So--a company sock wash, hm?”

I snort. “Well, what was I supposed to say? The truth?”

“Definitely not.”

“All right then. Don’t complain. I didn’t see you coming up with a good story.”

B.J. shrugs, bumping my shoulder with his. I shrug too, but that makes his head move, so mine hits against his. “Oww…” I complain. “As if the hangover I’m going to have isn’t going to be bad enough…”

B.J. leans away from me so that his head is on my pillow and his feet are still on the floor. “You ought to slow up on the drinking, Hawk,” he says, yawning.

I settle in behind him, nudging him to his half of my pillow. “I know, I know,” I reply, yawning myself.

“Hm. What are we doing, taking a nap until Leo gets back here?”

“Yeah,” I reply. I shift slightly, wedging my left elbow between Beej’s back and my chest.

“Oww…” B.J. imitates me.

“Oh, shut up,” I mutter back.

B.J. rolls his shoulders. “Seriously, Hawk, move your elbow.”

I unwedge it, then stick it straight up in the air. “Where am I supposed to put it?”

Beej reaches back, takes my arm, and drapes it over his own chest. “There,” he murmurs sleepily. “Goodnight Hawk.”

“It’s afternoon.”

“Good afternoon then,” he amends.

I turn my head slightly, kiss the back of his neck. “Good afternoon.”

Comments

[trapnhawksbaby.livejournal.com]

Very Nice!

[amberdowny.livejournal.com]

Thanks!

[ladybugkay.livejournal.com]

I really enjoyed that. As a relative newcomer to fanfic for this show - although I've loved it since I was a kid - it's really nice to see new fic coming out.

[amberdowny.livejournal.com]

Thanks. And welcome to the fandom!

[iamscullysmile.livejournal.com]

i enjoyed this. it was really cute, and sweet. glad to see you writing!

[amberdowny.livejournal.com]

Thanks!

Out of curiosity...are you the same iamscully who's been reviewing me on FFN lately?

[iamscullysmile.livejournal.com]

yep! that's me! hunting down MASH fic wherever i can find it! :)

[usedusername.livejournal.com]

Agh, that's lovely.
:)

[amberdowny.livejournal.com]

Thank you!