A Major Wager – Chapter 1
Synopsis: Margaret's vulnerable state after the sudden death of her father leads to two very different men of the 4077th serving new capacities in her life. Who will she ultimately choose?
Setting: This story takes place about a month after the "Communication Breakdown" episode, one of my favorite episodes (I also enjoy "Mr. and Mrs. Who?" and "The Yalu Brick Road"). I have not seen every episode of M*A*S*H up to the "Communication Breakdown" episode, so hopefully that doesn't lead to the formation of any major plot holes along the way. If it does, please inform me! You will notice little snippets and recollections of episodes I have seen, however, throughout this story.
Warnings: language, sex (though nothing explicit on either count)
Rating: T (just to be safe)
Pairings: CM, HM
Disclaimer: I do not own M*A*S*H or any of the characters in it. I'm making nothing from writing this work of fiction.
Reviews: Yes, please!
"Scalpel."
The lack of response was enough to drum up impatience in Dr. Charles Emerson Winchester III, his bloodied rubber glove extended towards the nurse at his side.
"Margaret."
The blonde standing next to the gurney flinched then, as if snapping out of a trance. Still she had not heeded his words. Her face was devoid of all emotion.
"Major, I am prone to believe if my patient were not in a coma, that he would kindly ask you to snap out of it for his sake."
"Oh!" she suddenly blurted, startling Dr. B.J. Hunnicutt, who was positioned back to back with her, standing over yet another patient-laden gurney. Having sutured a rather nasty leg gash in his patient, he was free to turn around and address the zombie-like nurse.
"You're not yourself today, Margaret," the mustached surgeon said with a mixture of warmth and concern, "What's up?"
Just before she could open her mouth to speak, Winchester interrupted.
"Hunnicutt, I'd appreciate if you'd allow my nurse to do her job."
With an exasperated sigh, the blonde nurse returned her focus to the patient in front of her and glanced up at the tall balding surgeon beside her.
"What did you need again, Major?" she asked him, her tone cold. He rolled his eyes with disgust.
"A scalpel, for the second time," he replied dramatically.
Within a second, a scalpel was in his hands and he was able to continue the work removing shrapnel from the body of his patient.
The call for incoming wounded had woken the 4077th M.A.S.H. before dawn, causing the lot of surgeons, nurses and orderlies to scramble in the dark to pull on their fatigues. It was mid-winter as well, with disrobing even less pleasant in the frigid temperatures, though the tents blocked the bitter winds that swept through. The barrage of wounded had prevented the officers of the 4077th from doing much else other than preparing patients for surgery and murmuring tired hellos to each other.
The post had arrived at the same time as incoming wounded the day before, and so the doctors and nurses of the 4077th had had to wait until late in the evening before opening and reading their mail. No one had seen Major Margaret Houlihan since she'd assisted in the surgeries of a half dozen American soldiers caught in an ambush.
No one liked being awake at such an early hour, and most were cranky and irritated, and talked to their nurses and assistants with morning breath and gravelly voices. Houlihan was the head nurse of the 4077th, but today she was in a trance and was deaf to Winchester's instructions to her. Besides that, she had tied on his surgical gown rather haphazardly, which hung too loosely on his shoulders and very nearly fell off several times. All morning Winchester rolled his eyes, occasionally clearing his throat rather loudly to stir the nurse. Strangely enough, her usual spunkiness was absent and she did no more than obey his orders.
In his annoyance at the incompetence of his nurse, Winchester snapped rather viciously at Klinger while the company clerk passed through the O.R. with fresh linens.
"Is this some kind of cruel hoax?" Winchester commented, as Klinger handed him a sheet.
"What do you mean, Major?"
"My nurse is practically catatonic. You distributed linens to all other attending physicians before you opted to dispense them here, where they are clearly much needed. Am I the brunt of everyone's joke this morning?"
"I just handed 'em out as I walked in here, from right to left," Klinger explained with a shrug. "You're on the end."
"Ah," Charles replied, with a raise of the eyebrows. "Am I to believe you now capable of comprehending direction? It seems you learn new tricks to explicate each new act of neglect towards my person."
"Major, if you don't lay off our company clerk, I'll see to it that you work upstream of him," Potter remarked. Winchester turned his head to look towards the colonel, who was getting new gloves put on his hands.
"Pray tell, whatever do you mean, Colonel," Winchester replied, the irony heavy in his voice.
"I'll have you washing the linens he has to hand out. Think that'll improve efficiency?"
Charles fell silent, not willing to take on that unpleasant duty ever again. Potter noted his silence.
"That's what I thought. Now let him do his job and you do yours."
After the final patient had been moved to post-op and the dead were loaded into a truck in preparation for their flight back to the States, the doctors surveyed the operating room. Blood covered the cement floor, mixed in with tatters of batting and hair that had been removed for surgery prep. Winchester, Pierce and Hunnicutt removed their gloves and coats in the changing room and stood outside in the frigid morning, their breath emerging from their noses and mouths as steam. A light frost covered the ground and the edges of the tents, though snow was nowhere to be found. The morning sun's rays made the frost sparkle like crystals. Had it not been such a stressful morning, the surgeons might have noticed the beauty of their surroundings.
"I think a trained chimpanzee could have assisted me more effectively than Major Houlihan this morning," Winchester remarked, his face twisted into a grimace.
"You're lucky she didn't blow up on you, with all the huffing and pouting you did," Hunnicutt replied. "Didn't think it was possible to hear an eyeroll until today."
"Did you not see her staring off into nothingness? She was wholly listless and indifferent, a mere shadow looming over the gurney. However, to have her simply acquiesce to my orders with no trace of defiance was a welcome change."
"Would it kill you to try a little tenderness?" Pierce remarked. "I think you're being too hard on her. Yesterday was a tough day and no one got enough sleep before the sequel this morning."
"Lest you forget, Pierce, I endured the trials and tribulations of yesterday's pandemonium and last night's sleeplessness and I'm no different than usual."
"Well, that's too bad," Pierce jeered.
"Something was definitely bothering Margaret," Hunnicutt added. "Maybe you should listen to the song sometime, Charles, learn about empathy."
Winchester made a face of confusion.
"'Try A Little Tenderness,'" Pierce explained. When the look of confusion continued to remain on Winchester's face, he shook his head. "'Course you've never heard of it. You only like music that's as far-removed from human emotion as possible."
Major Winchester had a retort in waiting, and proceeded with as snobbish an air as possible.
"You fail to comprehend, of course, that the music I enjoy is the product of an orchestra of humanity, all playing individual parts that contribute synergistically to a more perfect harmony than each alone could create. Very much the way an operating room should run, I imagine—a feat today prevented by the ineptitude of Major Houlihan and her little reverie."
In his explanation of his music, Winchester did not see a change in the expressions on the face of Pierce and Hunnicutt. He was rather unprepared for what followed.
"For your information, my father died last week," Houlihan raged, her voice laced with bitterness. He looked down to find her standing right in front of him, having pushed between the lanky figures of Pierce and Hunnicutt. Her arms were crossed and face dark red. Charles blushed at her standing before him.
"I'm sorry," Hunnicutt replied, looking genuinely sad for her. He touched her on the shoulder as she stood in front of him, facing off with Winchester. She didn't bother to acknowledge the gesture, seemingly too fed up with Winchester to even think.
"If you need to talk about it, I'm always here," Pierce added. "Is he back in the States?"
"He was on holiday in Tokyo when it happened. It was a heart attack," she explained. "He's still there now—so apparently the services will be held there."
"Why the delayed mourning?" Winchester retorted after seemingly ignoring the kind comments by his comrades. Pierce and Hunnicutt held their breaths in unison. Winchester's phrase had a double entendre, of that they were certain.
"I received the letter about it last night," she growled at him. "How could you be so insensitive?"
He did not so much as bat an eye.
"You realize, of course, that I was not aware of this most unpleasant news until a moment ago."
"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?"
Major Houlihan was becoming even more enraged, and Pierce and Hunnicutt were awed to see that Winchester pushed right through it, continuing to egg her on.
"Yes," he replied quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Yes, what?" she squawked.
"Yes, I have nothing to say."
"What?" She was shouting now, her voice shrill. Winchester could only shrug.
"Well, it was the question you asked."
"You met my father! How can you have nothing to say about his death? "
Winchester cleared his throat, glancing down at the frost-covered ground. Howitzer Houlihan had been a pain in the neck during his short stay at the 4077th. He looked up to see Hawkeye and B.J. making faces of distaste—they too knew how irritating Margaret's father had been. This silent agreement gave him the confidence to continue speaking.
When the tall Major looked back at Margaret, his look was almost that of pity—but not quite.
"Ha," he spat dryly. "I'd make a dreadful eulogist. Your father was, for lack of a better word… insufferable."
Hawkeye and B.J. exchanged a look. Charles had really gone and done it now. It was almost enough to want to shut their eyes, but they were too interested in what was to come.
"How dare you?" Margaret roared. "He was a better man than you'll ever be!"
Another temper tantrum from Major Houlihan. At least Winchester could be assured that she was back to her old self and not the listless shadow of a nurse she had been this morning. Hunnicutt and Pierce leaned forward as subtly as possible. Would she storm off now, or try her best to get into Winchester's face? Of course that would be a lost cause. It would be hilarious to watch though.
Without saying another word, the nurse pulled back her arm and administered a resounding slap to Winchester's cheek.
A/N: I would love to have feedback on how you think it's going so far! Thank you for your interest!