What They'll Say
Part One: Maine Sky
I hadn't ever really thought about it before.
No, not even there. It just seemed, well, not inexplicable; I knew why other people did it. But I didn't.
I was a doctor. Do no harm. Save lives, or try to at least.
I tried.
And back there there were always distractions. Colonel Potter always needed me in his office, Charles needed blame me, Frank needed to yell at me, the nurses needed to love me, then yell at me, Trapper needed me to get him in trouble, and BJ…even BJ needed me back there.
But it's different here. Well, not here here, over there here. Home.
It's quiet here. I see patients during the day, and my secretary smiles at me. I perform a few surgeries and save a few lives. Then I go home.
I never realized how big the house was before. After Dad died I spent hours just wandering the halls, listening to my shoes on the hardwood floors. It's huge, and it's quiet. Silent.
It gave me a lot of time to think, and to drink too. I did too much of both.
No, it's not the booze that got me here. Maybe it could have been.
The brain. Marvel of anatomy, mystery of science, and misfortune of Hawkeye Pierce. We've wrestled before; he wins sometimes, but I usually come out on top. Sometimes with help.
Sidney did a lot of that.
I don't know where he is, but I don't want him here. No, I don't want anyone here.
What'll he say? What'll everyone say? Did you hear about that surgeon, the one that lived over by Mable? Why would a doctor with an paid off house, two cars, and six acres of seaside land decide to…well, you know. They won't say it except in hushed voices.
The answer is simple my dear friends, I would say, if I weren't, you know, of course if I weren't then there wouldn't be any reason to say it, but anyway. Friends, I'd say, it was because of a mustache.
Yeah, that's exactly what I'd say.
Look at that; I knocked over the bottle. Little white pills all over the grass, well, not so little from this perspective, but if I weren't laying next to them.
Well, I was going to set them back up, but my arm doesn't want to move anymore. That's to be expected, considering.
Wait…
That was an effort, but I don't wanna go out looking at the pills. No, the sky. Look at it, clear, blue, early fall sky of Maine.
I'll try to remember to close my eyes before it happens, but right now…
It's beautiful.
-tbc-
This is just a little side project to Playing House that wouldn't stay outta my brain. It, my brain that is, insists that I get my own Hawkeye tries to kill himself fic, and now I have to try hard to dig myself out of this cliché-hole that I've fallen into.