A/N: Thanks to my little sister for ideas and dialogue!

All five heroes were coming back from successfully bombing a bridge and were nearly to the stump exit, when the four in front heard a gasp behind them. They all turned at once to see a pleased-looking Carter chewing on the top half of a generic, green, fuzzy-leaved plant, the bottom half hanging out of his mouth.

"Carter, what are you doing?" asked Hogan

"Im naw lenn fon in iddy puh—"

"What are the camp rules?" Newkirk asked. Carter swallowed, and held the rest of the plant.

"Don't speak with your mouth full," he answered, then grew excited again. "Look what I found!" He held up the plant for the briefest moment, then shoved the rest in his mouth, chewing blissfully.

"Carter, what is that?"

"What are you doing?!"

"What if it's poisonous?"

Carter took his time, finished, swallowed, and answered, "It's not."

"'ow do you bloody well know?"

"It looks like every other plant from here to Paris!"

"Carter, you shouldn't be picking up random plants in the dark."

"Looked like poison sumac to me."

"It wasn't! It was..." Carter's expression changed from indignation to confusion. "You want to try some?" He cast about on the ground.

"It was what?"

"Why don't you know it's name?"

"Well it's not exactly common," he said, still looking.

"That's not an answer."

"Aw, sorry guys. There aren't any more." Carter sounded disappointed.

"What was that plant?" Hogan asked with a warning tone.

"Um...I...don't remember."

They exploded.

"Don't remember?"

"Are you crackers?"

"How do you know it isn't poisonous?"

"Well I used to know the Lakota name for it. It's just, it was so rare in the Dakotas, we didn't use the word much. No one ever told me the English name."

"Was it something that started with 'poison' or 'deadly', by chance?" Kinch asked.

"You didn't even know it's name and you ate it?"

"Come on, Carter."

"I promised your mother I'd get you home alive from the war. You're making that awfully difficult," said Hogan.

"It was safe, I promise! And delicious. Now can we go in? I'm getting cold."

"Probably the first symptom," muttered LeBeau.

Hogan decided they all really should be getting in, and led them down the stump and back to their barracks. Once comfortably in bed, and after such a long night, everyone was too sleepy to think more on Carter's culinary choices.

~~HH~~

It was two days later when they noticed Carter's unusual behavior.

"Hey, Carter," Newkirk called from his spot at the table. Carter continued on toward the bunk tunnel, and, presumably, his lab. "Carter," he called again. "Up for gin?" The tech sergeant just opened the tunnel. "Ya bloody yank!" Half the boys in the barracks looked up. One of them tapped Carter on the shoulder before he descended. Carter looked at him, surprised, then in the direction he was pointing.

Newkirk rolled his eyes and waved the deck. "Gin?"

"Um..." Carter looked blank.

"Gin rummy," he supplied. "The game we're always playin'? Do you want to play?"

His face cleared. "Oh. No. Uh, lab," he vaguely pointed, and continued down the ladder.

"I'll play," Kinch offered.

"Thanks." Newkirk dealt them their cards, and after surveying his hand, asked, "What's gotten into Carter? 'e's not always there, but 'e seems especially out of sorts...well, these last few days."
Kinch thought, put a queen of spades down, and said, "You think it was something he ate?"

They both looked at LeBeau, who stopped half way through the carrot he was cutting. He put up his hands. "It wasn't my cooking!" he defended himself.

"Well if it wasn't that..."

"The only other thing he had to eat was..."

"That plant!" they all determined at once.

A few minutes later, they were in Hogan's quarters.

"Are you positive?" he asked. "That's what you think it is?" He too had noticed Carter's behavior recently. He trailed off for no reason, was slower to answer questions, and, most noticeably, was being rather quiet. It was getting on Hogan's nerves.

"It's got to be " said LeBeau. "He said it was edible, but I don't trust it."

"Besides," Newkirk reasoned. "None of us ate it, and we're all fine."

"Hmm. I'm not convinced. But we'll see."

~~HH~~

That evening, in the radio room, Kinch was passing his time looking through a wild plant guide he had found after several hours of asking around. He flipped through a few pages, then stopped. He ran up to the barracks as fast as he could.

He found everyone else playing a new card game Shultz had taught them. It required some extra pieces Shultz's toy factory used to produce that Newkirk had to pay extra chocolate for.

"Guys, look at this," Kinch said, plopping the book down open on the table. They all leaned in to see what was on the page. Kinch pointed. "Do you think that was it?"

LeBeau immediately started to nod his head, and the Colonel had one of his you-have-my-limited-edition-patented-and-sent-to-you-in-a-special-box-stamp-of-approval looks on.

Newkirk eyed it. "I'm not so sure. It was awful dark, y'know."

"Read the warning," Hogan said.

"Leaves contain toxins that can cause upset stomach, spasms, slowness to respond, flu-like symptoms, brain damage or effects to personality, bad breath—"

At that, Newkirk nodded his approval as well. "That was definitely it."

"—and sometimes death." Kinch stopped and Hogan began pacing.

"What do we do, mon Colonel?" LeBeau asked.

"I'm not exactly a doctor. I'm sure rest and some broth would help."

"Oui. Right away," said LeBeau.

"Newkirk, keep an eye on Carter and—"

Carter opened the door and strolled in. Kinch slammed the book shut and threw it down the open bunk-tunnel. They all stared at him.

"Um... What's up, guys?"

After a very long moment, while they all sized up their possibly fatally endangered barracksmate, Newkirk said, "Blimey, Carter. You look tired. Why don't you lay down?"

"He's right," agreed LeBeau. "Lay down, Carter."

"Well...I didn't sleep very well last night. I guess that would be nice."

"Yeah, you lay down snug as a bug, eh?" Newkirk said, encouraging Carter with the Americanism.

Carter stopped. "Only if it's okay with the Colonel."

"Of course you can," said Hogan.

"Now see, lay down there, just like that." Newkirk had shoved him down into his bunk and tucked him in thoroughly. On his cue, they all began to hum a lullaby as Kinch went back down the tunnel and the others hurried out of the baracks, still humming, LeBeau pot in hand, stirring gently.

~~HH~~

When Carter woke up, he found himself piled high with wool blankets and LeBeau sitting next to him with a big bowl of broth.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"Um, sorta. A little hot. Hey, LeBeau? What's all this for?" He tried moving the blankets, but under their weight, he was struggling. LeBeau was humming to himself.

"LeBeau?"

"Oui?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"No. Here." He shoved a spoonful of broth into Carter's mouth before he could ask his next question.

"What—" The spoon was stuffed in again.

"Hey—" More broth. He couldn't help but swallow every spoonful.

"STOP." LeBeau did.

"Yes?"

"No more soup."

"Okay." He grabbed a tin cup full of water and began once again to force it into Carter.

Right before Carter drowned, Newkirk poked his head in. "Hey, Louis. The Colonel wants you. 'ow's 'e doin'?"

"I've been trying to feed him soup. Looks like a fever."

"I'm not sick!"

"You're sweating."

"That's because of the blankets!" Carter struggled again, but hardly moved the mass of cloth.

"I'll watch 'im, LeBeau. You go on out." LeBeau left, and Newkirk repositioned the blankets securely on him, sitting on the bed to keep them from moving. Carter gave up.

"Why's he going out?"

"Oh, uh. Nothin' really."

"If you aren't going to let me go find out, you better tell me!"

"A'right, fine. We've got another mission from London."

"What is it?"

"You don't need to know that. You're stayin' right 'ere till you feel better."

"I feel fine!"

Newkirk put a hand to his forehead. "No, you aren't."

"Get me out from under here and I will be fine!"

So commenced a horribly one-sided wrestling match which ended with an even redder, sweatier Carter that Newkirk eventually, reluctantly admitted probably needed let out from under the blankets.

~~HH~~

After roll call the next morning—in which Carter had trouble keeping his eyes open after all of the fuss last night over whether keeping the windows open was better, giving him fresh air, or closed was better, to prevent a draft—Carter filed into the barracks last. Deciding to take a break from his lab work, he went to pull an old book from his footlocker. He found his footlocker already open.

"Lookie 'ere, a nice three inch pencil. Any takers?" Olsen accepted the offer from Newkirk, trading a cigarette. Newkirk dug around for the next item. "And this is a...hopefully non-lethal—"

"Newkirk, what are you doing?" asked Carter, looking around the room to see how many of his possessions had been passed around.

"Auctioning off the estate, as it were."

"What? I'm not dead!"

"You might as well be."

Carter pursed his lips, grabbed the pencil from Olsen, and held out his hand to Newkirk. After a moment, Newkirk rolled his eyes and handed over the pack of cigarettes. "I'd still like to take inventory and get things apportioned."

"Why do you guys think I'm sick?"

"So that's a no then?"

Carter huffed and went to the stove to see what LeBeau was cooking for breakfast. Carter—to his credit—didn't even trip over the air on the way there, but LeBeau abandoned his spatula to try and catch him anyway.

"What are you doing?"

LeBeau looked sheepish, realizing Carter was quite stable. "Oh. Nothing. You look a little tired. Maybe you should lay down?"

"Tired?" Kinch said with his perfectly-crafted skeptical tone. "How about pale? You feel okay, Carter?"

"I'm fine!" he repeated. This was getting tiring.

"Incidentally," said LeBeau. "What is your favorite food, Carter? Maybe I could make some." Carter frowned. LeBeau knew his favorite food, and last time he'd requested, after explaining what it was, he was pretty sure the answer was along the lines of 'What kind of an American abomination is that? I wouldn't make it if my life depended on it! I wouldn't make it if your life depended on it!' though Carter could plausibly have been filling in those words. After ten more minutes of trying to get them off his back, he left the barracks, seeking out Shultz. When your allies got annoying, who else could you go to but the enemy?

He found Shultz reluctantly beginning his rounds. "Oh, Carter!"

"Hi, Shultz. What's up?"

Shultz stopped walking and tilted his helmet back to look up at the sky. "Nothing," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Nevermind," said Carter. "Do I—"

"Oh, that is right! The kommandant wanted me to send you to his office when I saw you."

"Oh? Why? Why me?"

Shultz twisted his mustache. "Do you think he tells me? He just said he wanted to see you."

"Um. Okay then. I guess I'll head over."

Shultz was about to resume his march when he said encouragingly, "After you see the kommandant, maybe you should take a nice, relaxing rest."

Carter gave him a strange look which was mostly a result of trying to decide what he thought of that, and then abandoned it to walk to the kommandantur.

Carter took off his hat when he got into the outer office and ducked his head at Hilda. She smiled graciously and said, "The kommandant will see you right away."

"Oh, thanks," he said, stepping to the door. He hesitated, then opened it.

Klink was sitting at his desk shuffling through papers. He looked up at the door opening with a look of irritation, then saw that it was Carter. "Oh! Sergeant Carter!" He got up and moved around his desk. "Please, come in."

Carter awkwardly stepped in, closing the door behind him. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Oh, yes. But first, sit down!"

Klink pulled a chair from against the wall up to his desk. Carter hesitantly walked over and sat down. This was unusual behavior. Klink had something in mind. He watched as the kommandant went to reach for the liquor, then stopped himself and instead went for the cigars, then stopped himself at that too. He finally sat in his chair, put his elbows on the desk, and with a generous smile on his face asked, "Tell me, Sergeant Carter. How are you feeling?"

After a pause, Carter decided it was just best to answer. "Well. Fine, I guess. I mean, everything's normal."

"Are you sure?" The concerned look on his face was raising alarm bells, but Carter hadn't quite pinned it yet.

"Yeah. Everything's doing okay. I mean, I am in prison, but..."

Klink laughed over-enthusiastically at the unintentional joke. Then he was back to business. "Aside from that, of course, are you feeling okay? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Do for m—" Suddenly, everything came together. "Oh, not you too." Klink raised his eyebrows. "Just—well—I mean...not you too...sir?"

Klink glossed over it. "I just wanted to tell you that whatever you need, you can ask. I would be happy to help you."

"Thanks, sir. Is that all?"

"Yes, you are dismissed. But if you need anything—"

"I'll ask."

"Take it easy, as you Americans say. Oh! Try one of LeBeau's mustard plasters. They do wonders!"

Carter thanked him as politely as he could and left the office. Back to Barracks 2. He opened the door to have a hand slapped to his forehead. He swatted Newkirk away.

"Yep. Fever," the Englishman reported.

"You just have cold hands!"

Kinch was writing notes, LeBeau was spreading a plaster on a piece of fabric, Olsen was shoving a necklace of garlic at him, and Newkirk went to the stove to attend to a steaming pot of water.

"Why do you think I'm sick? Why does Klink think I'm sick?"

No one answered him, but he spotted a small paperback book with a flowery plant on the front, littered with bookmarks. This couldn't be about that plant? And then he was being covered with less-than-subtle cures for all manner of illness. After being thrown on his bunk, covered in blankets, legs elevated, a damp cloth put to his forehead, and a steaming bowl of water stuck under his nose, Carter was about done.

"It wasn't poisonous!" he exploded, in an atypically irate voice. "Anyone heard of do no harm? Stop it! Get off me!"

They all froze and went silent. Then LeBeau leaned in toward Newkirk and Kinch, murmuring, "Effects to personality, it said."

Shultz stepped in the door with a pot of flowers in hand.

~~HH~~

Carter was enjoying his peaceful night's sleep. It was incredible that he gotten them all off of his back before evening, but after threatening to withdraw from all card games and refrain from trading come the next Red Cross shipment, he had managed it. Or he thought he had.

He was sleeping quite well, but for some unknown reason, he opened his eyes to the dark barracks. It took him a moment to pick out the figures in the darkness. One withdrew the finger that had nearly poked him. He was surrounded by half the men in the barracks, all staring at him.

"What's going on?" he asked grumpily.

The only response was: "Oh... good."

Carter stared a moment before he realized what was going on. "I am not dead!"

~~HH~~

The next morning, though he was left with plenty of broth and remedies and little keepsakes he supposed were meant to comfort him in his last days, everyone seemed to be out of barracks. After checking the door, he opened up the tunnels and stuck his head down. Yep. There was activity down there. He descended the ladder to find LeBeau at work on a uniform, keeping Kinch company on the radio, and Newkirk and Hogan around a map discussing movements.

"What are you guys doing? Is this our next mission?"

"Carter, what are you doin' down 'ere?"

"Mon ami, go back to bed."

"Maybe you'll get better, Carter."

Hogan was the only one who hadn't spoken. He was on Carter's side. Carter appealed to him. "Colonel, let me be part of the mission." He looked at the map. There was a pin on the Dusseldorf bridge. "You're blowing a bridge? When? I gotta get the explosives ready!"

"Ah, Carter..."

Carter, already headed to his lab, stopped at the tone of voice. He looked at Hogan. "Colonel, I feel fine. It wasn't poisonous. I'll explode the bridge!"

The look of skepticism was terribly subtle. The indecision on Hogan's face was killing Carter. "Sorry, Carter, but I've been consulting with Wilson, and we can't drag a sick man back to camp—"

"You can't stop me from going on a mission! That's a big bridge! You need me there! You didn't even ask for explosives, and I don't have enough dynamite. When are we blowing that up?"

Hogan's answer was slow coming. "...Tonight."

"I know what that plant is. I've eaten plenty. Look at me! I am not dead!"

Hogan waffled. Carter glared at the others, daring them to open their mouths. He had to blow up this bridge.

"I guess...one doesn't get in the way of a pyromaniac and his nitro.""Thanks," Carter threw over his shoulder, practically running to his lab before any more potfuls of broth could be drained down his throat.

~~HH~~

Carter crouched silently under the bridge and connected the last two wires. He waited until the steps had passed overhead, then hurried down to the river's edge to cross over and find the rest of the guys. He was running the wire behind him while trying to cross the large river with the aid of two conveniently placed rocks that had stopped a conveniently long log no one had bothered to move. He was almost all the way across when his foot slipped.

~~HH~~

The bridge exploded, everyone made it home, and Carter dried off. He had shivered the entire way back, and admitted, only to himself, that he was grateful for the copious amounts of blankets and pillows. He was more grateful, however that the others had quit trying to feed him and fluff said pillows and had returned all of his belongings to his footlocker.

He woke up in the morning with a terrible sniffle, and couldn't bundle up warm enough for roll call. He felt terrible. He bypassed everyone else getting ready for the morning and went straight back to his bunk. He turned over, and couldn't care less when he heard a pot getting put on the stove and his footlocker being opened as the auction began.

"See?" LeBeau was telling Hogan. "It was that plant. He shouldn't have gone out last night."