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My Wife

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Corporal Sanderson had seen quite a few things since he joined. Strange things, scary things, and just flat out weird shit.

Now the base was humming with gossip about a new unit that had stopped by for a break between missions, and he decided to do a little reconnaissance.

One of the unit had already gained a reputation as a womanizer and was seen frequenting the bars and the nurses.

One was Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith, who was reported to be some sort of military genius. Yeah, right.

The other two were a bit of a mystery.

So, he came around the side of the barracks they were supposed to be staying, in looking for anyone that might be in Smith’s unit when he ran into a guy trying to wrestle three or four boxes from a van. He watched the guy get two out, set them to the side, then pull the others out and stack them on top. He then bent down, showing off lurid Hawaiian shorts, and picked them up, barely able to see around them as he kicked the van doors shut and walked off.

He followed, wondering if this was one of Smith’s men. The man ended up at a set up grill and a picnic table.

He watched as the guy began to carefully and systematically open boxes, putting what looked like closed containers on one side, everything else on the other. The man pulled off his Hawaiian shirt, threw it to the side and began stoking the grill, appearing to talk animatedly to the coals . He was too far away from the scene to hear the man, but he didn’t seem to be all there.

After the grill was fired up, the man began to pull meat from the closed containers, seemingly speaking to each one before putting it on the grill. Then he began on the other stuff. He pulled out a tablecloth…a tablecloth in the middle of the base, really? And set it up, put plates and glasses down, then silverware, all arranged like an estate dinner. The he pulled out a pot of flowers and put it in the middle of the table. They looked like the same flowers the supply officer, Lieutenant Henries, kept sticking in front of the offices.

Henries was a fag. He bet this guy was too.

If the flowers weren’t enough, he watched as the guy pulled an apron…a freaking apron, out of nowhere, and put it on. It wasn’t even a manly apron. It was bright yellow with flowers.

As he heard a car start coming down the street, he decided he’d seem enough, and walked down a sidewalk and away.

Twenty minutes later he finds himself talking to Corporal Michaels about the new unit as they walk into the motor pool. Michaels is telling him about Lieutenant Peck, who seems to be a favorite with the females on base right now. He’s a little pissed about that, because it means that nurse he was working on probably has him last on her mind.

The conversation turns, and Michaels mentions that one of the team, Captain Murdock, had gone to mess and ‘borrowed’ kitchen supplies. The cooks were worried because the man was crazy.

He snorts. “Crazy? Yeah, I believe it man. I think I saw him today. Was he wearing all this Hawaiian shirt shit?”

“Yeah. You saw him?”

“Yeah, he was cooking up a whole freakin’ banquet. Tableclothes and silverware and plates and everything. He was grilling stuff too, but I wouldn’t eat it, if you know what I mean.”

The puzzled look on his friend’s face makes him shake his head. “Man, you know only real men can grill! This guy is just like Henries.”

“What, you mean-”

“Hell yeah! He was wearing a flowery apron. I bet the reason they keep him on is because he gives a little something on the side.”

There is a sound of metal hitting the floor, but he keeps going. It is the motor pool, and guys drop stuff all the time.

“You know, someday he'll make a good wife for someone.” He says with a grin, but discovers his friend isn’t laughing. Instead, Michaels is looking at something past him, eyes wide.

He’s about to turn when two giant hands hit his shoulders.

“Yeah. But he’s my wife.” The voice behind him is a little chilling. He turns his head to find himself in the oil streaked presence of one of the biggest men he’s ever seen. “And if you wanna keep insulting him, I am going to introduce you to my fists. Do you want ‘Pity’ or ‘Fool’ first?”

“Who the hell are you?!”

“B.A. Baracus. The man you talking about is on my team, and he’s worth about ten of you assholes. Now, I’m not going to ask you to apologize, because I know you won’t mean it. But I am gonna ask you, nicely, not to insult my friend anymore. Because if you don’t, and I find out, it ain’t gonna be good for you.” He lets go of his shoulders and walks out, quiet menace in his step.

Sanderson lets out a shaky breath a few seconds after he’s gone. Michael’s looks at him, still eye wide.

“Shit man, did you see the size of that guy?”

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“Bosco!” Murdock waves the basting brush at him, accidentally flicking barbecue sauce at Face, who instead of complaining for once, just wipes it off his shirt.

“Hey man. Sorry I’m late. Had to finish up at the pool.”

“Yeah? Did this finishing up happen to include a Corporal Sanderson?”

“I am not even going to ask how you knew that.”

“He was watching me earlier. I asked one of the enlisted that popped by and gave me a hand moving tables. I got the impression that he’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, not far off. He just needed some friendly advice.”

Murdock fixes him with a look that is all knowing, then returns to the grill. “I cooked brisket.”

Hannibal made a happy noise from the other side of the table, still leafing through his book.

“Dude, I love you.” Face sighed as mouthwatering dishes began to appear on the table.

“But what will Bosco say?” Came the teasing reply.

“Bosco says shut up and eat, cause the food will get cold. Crazy fools.” He dug into the plate, everything else forgotten.