Yeah, maybe I shouldn't 'a done that.

[Hunter Matheson 0]

Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t ‘a done that.

Kal Matheson with the assistance of CPT Granger

 

Shouts of cheeerrrryyy echoed through the Marine locker room as Hector Gonzales and Danny Souter tackled Kal and dragged him, kit and all, feet first into the showers.

 

Kal knew it was coming. In fact, he’d expected it since he came aboard.

 

Now, normally someone’s a “cherry” if they’ve never seen combat. But in the teams they use it for someone who’s new to just about anything, and especially new to the team. No one was immune, not even senior officers, and in this case the non-immunee was Gunnery Sergeant Hunter K. Matheson, better known as Kal, who was brand-spankin’ new to Delta team.

 

(Well, he’d been on one mission but that didn’t count because he came aboard during mission planning, the team didn’t have time or opportunity, and they had to do him up proper, yuh know.)

 

Kal wanted to get it over with. He figured it was better done sooner than later, so on his way past CPL Johnny “Jack” Daniels he butt-snapped him with his towel to start the ball rolling.

 

And yeah, it rolled. He was about to get butt-whipped big time.

 

Delta’s corpsman Tasha pulled out the hard green lava soap - reserved for such occasions. Maori-warrior-in-residence Moa had his hand on the cold-water button (freshwater courtesy of station docking, of course, and ordered extra-icy and high pressure with the lame excuse that it was needed for mission training). A stiff-bristled scrub brush sailed over the lockers to bulls-eye the skull of O’Neill’s Punisher T-shirt while Daniels, who had earned the right to do the honors by virtue of the towel-swat Kal had given him, stood over Kal and read him his rights.

 

“You have the right to remain silent. If you decline the right to remain silent anything you say or do can and will be used on the Marine video feed throughout the ship and maybe even into the station. Hell, we might even broadcast it to HQ - depending on the quality of the actions and/or statements.” Daniels grinned. “Oh, and keep your eyes closed.”

 

Hot damn, I’m in for a ride.

 

“Other than that, you got no rights, Gunnery Sergeant Hunter Kal Matheson. Your. Ass. Is. Ours. Is... that... clear?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Kal muttered the best he could with his T-shirt pulled over his head as a restraint.

 

“I... can’t... hear..... you!!” Daniels shouted into his ear, DI* fashion, complete with funky Hollywood accent.

 

“Sir, yes sir!”

 

On came the water - full force - while Gonzales and Souter splayed his hands and feet and pressed them into the shower floor and wall. The resulting string of expletives weren't repeatable in Marine company, much less polite company, so the chances of it being cleared for any feed were nil. His body pounded mercilessly by the water’s icy fingers, Kal was soon red - like a cherry - and then came the best part: the lava soap and bristle brush scrub-down.

 

Head to toe. No holds barred.

 

Tasha turned politely away when the shorts came off. As team corpsman, her job was to discreetly monitor the situation, to make sure Kal wasn't seriously injured (ego excluded) and to patch up any minor scrapes, which were bound to happen but were usually brushed off and tended to by the recipient.

 

Moa also took a back seat. As ATL,* his job was to keep any onlookers (non-team members who wanted to join in) at bay and, when it was over, informally report the incident to TL* CPT Granger, who would report it to Marine CO, MAJ Johnson. But they usually found out through the grapevine before he could tell them.

 

So they rubbed and scrubbed for what seemed an eternity to Kal, but was actually only five minutes. Biting ice-cold water numbed him to the core, lava soap and a stiff-bristled scrub brush took off a layer of skin - but he had more than one, so no problem there. By the time he came out he was more than squeaky-clean inside and out. His mouth would taste of lava soap for several days. Hell, he might even lose that tiny bit of flab that had grown around his middle during liberty because everyone knows that the taste of lava soap and food don’t exactly mix.

 

Covered with several large towels, Kal sat on the bench where the team had left him. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and his body was engulfed in shudders.

 

“Kal?”

 

Tasha’s voice. “I’m good,” he responded, “hell of a shower.” He tried to laugh, but his teeth wouldn’t let him.

 

“Can you walk?”

 

Kal looked up. “Guess we’ll find out.”

 

Wrapped in several warm blankets, Kal’s body slowly recovered while Tasha examined the “damage” in the seclusion of the team room. “You’ll be red for a few days,” she said. “The antibiotic should take care of any nasties. You’re up to date on your virals. Look at me.” She nodded as she examined his eyes. “They’re good about staying clear, but I like to be sure,” she said to his questioning look. “No major damage to your body. You start feeling anything strange, you hightail it straight to sick bay, understood?”

 

Kal dropped his head with a chuckle, then looked up with a sheepish grin. “Feeling strange include wanting to take you out for a stiff drink?”

 

“Get outta here,” she teased, the implication clear. “You’re fine. Bed rest until you’re on duty, which shouldn't be for another two hours. Got it?”

 

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” he said, grinning as she walked out the door.

 

A fresh set of civies later, while relaxing in his bunk, all he could think was, Damn, one hell of a woman, one hell of a shower.

 

______________

DI - Drill Instructor

ATL - Assistant Team Leader

TL - Team Leader