"Choppers!" Radar cried, nearly dropping the clipboard tucked under his arm, as he made sure to alert the Colonel.
"Choppers in the compound! All staff report, on the double," a voice rang from the PA system, setting all on high alert as people rushed towards triage, diagnosing patients and shouting orders back and forth. Wounded were moved to pre-op, doctors scrubbing furiously, rushing into the operating room and waiting for the monotonous session of OR to begin. Patients were brought in slowly and carefully, set down onto tables and put under with an ease that only learned doctors and nurses had.
"How's that patient of yours, Captain Murray?" Potter's voice asked, his eyes settled on the kid his elbows were buried in. "He's holding up, Potter, sir… for now," the captain paused, assessing the damage on the patient below him. He had been diagnosed with a concussion, several abrasions around the shin and knee, and a broken ankle.
Unless there was something this replacement doctor wasn't seeing, the kid would be fine and would pull through. "Good, now what about you? You seem to be shaking in your boots." Potter's voice had a twinge of concern. "I'm alright, thanks," the reply was clear through the cloth mask the surgeon wore.
The rest of the OR session was quiet, with the exception of a handful of, "Clamp," and "Suction," tossed around. With a drawn-out sigh, Potter's tired voice called, "Klinger! How many wounded left in the compound?" "None, sir, that's the last of them." The whole room seemed to sigh with relief. In the scrub room, BJ pulled off his bloody clothing, tossing his mask, shirt, and pants into their respective baskets. Without so much as a snide comment to Winchester, who had just entered the room, he left, making his way tiredly to the Mess Tent and pouring himself some coffee, taking a sip and sitting down at an empty table. He gave a weary sigh, setting the cup down and refusing to give it another glance.
After a few minutes, a voice asked him, "May I join you?" He nodded silently, and Margaret's slim form slid into the bench across from him, her coffee mug held in both hands. They both sat in silence for a moment, before BJ's ragged voice asked a question only she'd be able to hear.
"Where has he gone?" He asked, barely able to whisper. Margaret sighed, taking a drink of her coffee and blinking slowly before replying. "I don't know, BJ, I don't know. But you need not dwell on it… move on. He'd want you to." This simple statement, while trying to help, only infuriated him. "He's not dead! I know it! I'm not going to move on and forget my best friend, because I know he'd never do that to me! If I were in his place, I'd be looking for him nonstop! In fact," He rose from the bench, his coffee forgotten, "I'm going to do just that!"
"No way, Jose, you don't leave this camp," came a strong and stern voice. Potter had stepped in, just in time. "Colonel, if it were me in his place, Hawk would do the same thing! You know that! I have to find him, I don't want to sit idly by and wait to find out that he's been killed. I have to find him." "Except, Hunnicutt, if you were in Pierce's place, I'd make him stay as well," his voice was beginning to rise, not in frustration, but with concern. "I've already got one surgeon missing, I can't have you go gallivanting off looking for him! Damn it, I need you here, and that's where you'll stay!" He paused for a moment, giving a relented sigh.
"I'll call the MPs, and tell them to continue searching. You get back to the Swamp and get some rest." BJ sighed sadly, rubbing his temples with one hand, giving a glance to both the Major and the Colonel, and tiredly leaving the Mess Tent, stumbling back to the Swamp.
Collapsing on his cot, he gave a sigh, his head falling wearily into his hands as his thoughts overcame his need for sleep. "I hope to hell he's alright. Damn it, Hawk! You're such an idiot, I swear!" He was unaware of Charles' return to the Swamp, who quietly sat on his cot and gave BJ his space, not even bothering to jibe him on how hellish and tired the married man looked.
After a moment, he gave in to his slight, almost insignificant concern and quietly suggested, "Hunnicutt… you need to rest. I know you may not want to, but for your health and welfare, please, rest." BJ soundlessly looked towards him, not in the mood for lashing out, and laid down on his cot, sleep far from coming.
After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning about, he managed to convince sleep to take him, but his nap was not restful in the least.
Dark clouds swirled through his mind, loud shattering sounds breaking through the defense of the shelter sleep what supposed to offer. Shells rained from the heavens, screams and cries falling on deaf ears. It was here, amongst the gunfire and bombshells that BJ found himself. Diving for cover, he huddled under a few fallen boulders. His eyes scanned the field, looking for anything steadier to shelter in. He saw a rusty and fallen shack in the distance, and when it seemed clear enough, he made a dash for it, his long legs closing the distance easily. Crouching under what might have been a table at one time, he felt his chest heave a sigh.
The shelling started up again, making the ground shake violently. He waited anxiously for it to end, but before it could, he heard shouting. He clambered out from under the table, peering cautiously through the grimy and broken window. In the distance, he could see a figure, tall, lean, and dark-haired.
Hawkeye.