A/N: Sorry for the long first chapter! If you can get through this I promise future chapters won't be as long! Please let me know what you think so far of this different kind of story endeavor in a kind of pseudo-stream-of-consciousness format! There are no major pairings in this and every chapter should be pretty dramatic. I really want to be sure my characterizations are correct (Hawkeye, Frank, Margaret, Charles, B.J. Potter, Klinger, etc).
Oh, yeah, and I don't own a smidgen of M*A*S*H...
The blood—and the pain! He hadn't truly considered how much a single bullet could render him helpless. The wounded he treated daily he only saw for a moment before getting them stabilized and anesthetized—had they had to endure such agony?
He was going to die—there was no way on God's green earth that Pierce and Hunnicutt could stop the bleeding in time. Soon he would be in hemothorax and would need an Ambu-bag to help him breathe. Besides himself, the most talented surgeon of the 4077th was incapacitated with broken fingers and a stiff cast. Not only had he been robbed of his future, but he'd been robbed of his best chance for survival! What bitter irony it was that he, a skilled thoracic surgeon, was unable to operate on his own damaged chest!
He could hear the voices of Pierce and Hunnicutt but his vision was blurred. His failing eyes moved to look at the floor. The bullet had struck him in the upper left hand part of his chest and had nearly knocked him backwards, the sheer size of his body keeping him balanced—until now….
Though his visual acuity was failing, the fuzzy patch of crimson on the floor was unmistakable and he knew that he would soon go into shock and his heart rate would slow until it ran out of blood. The events of the past two days flashed before his eyes. How had such an innocuous time of ceasefire turned into his own personal bloodbath? How could he have been so naïve as to distrust the judgment of Pierce and Hunnicutt and to actually feel sorry for a sworn enemy?
To the outsider, it would seem like a rather laid-back day at the 4077th. The officers and enlisted men were given a choice in these easier times—to sleep in or attend breakfast. Being as most chose the former, there sat only two groups in the Mess Tent. A woman's voice cut through the chewing and sounds of mock gagging from two of the camp's surgeons. No one was yet aware of the changes that were to come.
"Do you know what today is?"
Hawkeye Pierce looked up from his breakfast at the blonde nurse across the mess tent table, the person who had asked the question. Major Margaret Houlihan's expression was inscrutable as her gaze moved from him to the other men at the table: B.J. Hunnicutt, to Charles Winchester, and then to Father Mulcahy. Hawkeye held a finger up, attempting to answer Margaret.
"That would be—lemme guess—it's now been a week without casualties. You know, God's gonna get jealous soon because we've gotten seven days off already and He only got to take off on the seventh day."
Mulcahy shook his head, a little smile on his lips.
"Actually, I think the happiness God feels about this time of peace would trump that."
"Do you think this might be it?" B.J. commented. "That the war might be over and we can all go home? I can't believe that this ceasefire has held up for a week now…."
"Bite your tongue, Hunnicutt," Winchester retorted. "Audacious statements like those are likely to backfire."
"Ehh, don't sweat it, Charles," Hawkeye commented with a shake of the head. "I'm sure they'll think of some other way to keep us here after the war's through, like making us repopulate South Korea. It'll be nothing but fun for us, but it'll take at least nine months for Margaret to do her duty."
Charles groaned. "Surely you jest. I would not deign to pass on the Winchester bloodline to a mere Korean. After all, our bloodline carries with it the rewards of tall stature, good health, longevity—"
"And male pattern baldness," B.J. cut in. Winchester snorted indignantly.
"I myself don't believe longevity's inherited," B.J continued. "It's all about day-to-day luck, really. Who knows; tomorrow you could get hit with a jeep."
"Are you going to run me down to prove a point, Hunnicutt?" Charles responded. "If you must know, my younger brother passed away at a very young age in an accident, and so I'm certain luck plays a part in lifespan, though I cannot discount that bloodlines have a role. As for me, if I can avoid being blown to pieces by the enemy long enough to get home from this war, I won't be stupid enough to invite bad luck on my own."
B.J. smiled.
"Tempting fate, are we, Chuck?"
"Don't get me started on fate," Winchester said with a laugh. "Fate is a fantasy of those who haven't enough money to chart out their existence as they see fit."
"What about you, Charles? I suppose then, that it was your money and not fate that got you to the 4077th, eh?" Hawkeye interjected. "Wow, and to figure, I thought you hated it here…"
Margaret rolled her eyes.
"I was trying to tell you all something. Can I get back to what I was saying?"
"Go ahead," Hawkeye said, giving her a half grin.
"While it may be true that we've had a week's r & r, but that's not why I brought it up just now. Today it's been one year since my divorce from Donald was finalized."
Hawkeye's eyes widened, and he watched her intently, clearly interested in her mentioning such an event. He spoke up, choosing his words carefully.
"And what do you plan to do to mark such an occasion?"
She looked self-conscious for a moment.
"I don't know…. I'm not sure how I should feel, but it has to mean something, you know? To have been officially divorced for a year."
"Now you can confess your undying love for me without any guilt," Hawkeye cracked. He watched Margaret roll her eyes yet again. "No, but seriously, Margaret, you shouldn't be alone today. It's kind of a tough call, how you're supposed to be feeling."
"Thank you for that, Hawkeye," Margaret replied, clearly touched by his understanding. He wasn't finished.
"Now, I don't how you're supposed to be feeling, but I can tell you whoyou're supposed to be feeling." He flashed her a mischievous grin.
"I am sorry to hear that, Margaret," Charles piped up, stealing Margaret's attention away from Hawkeye and ignoring Hawkeye's blatant flirtation with the nurse. "However, being as we are currently in ceasefire, I do believe your dismal anniversary merits a day in a Tokyo spa sipping sake and forgetting."
"That sounds wonderful," she replied, shutting her eyes and smiling to herself. "Do you think Colonel Potter would approve it?"
"Hell, he might even approve it for all of us," Hawkeye blurted. "Can you imagine? We'd get to be on each other's nerves in a completely different country."
"I for one would not be caught one hundred yards from you cretins if I were able to escape this mire for a day," Winchester retorted. "Besides, the places I frequent are far too exclusive to allow you and Hunnicutt entrance."
"That's because I prefer to use my cash to gain entrance to warmer, more comfortable places than your uppity little sushi joints. The fish is better there too."
Charles's jaw dropped.
"You are appalling, Pierce. And to think, I presumed you were above paying for—"
"Their drinks, Chuckles!" Hawkeye cut in. "You underestimate my natural animal magnetism, which does the rest of the job."
"Well, that certainly explains your devoted menagerie of six-legged bloodsuckers."
"In case you're interested, they're for sale. My own personal flea market," Hawkeye replied, grinning mischievously at Charles. "…But getting back to the point—all men have to pay to get it—you I bet more than most. I mean, isn't that what marriage is—just a really expensive way of getting it long-term? There's the diamond ring and the ceremony, but it's really just a way to—"
"Hey, I resent that!" Margaret exclaimed, leaping to her feet. Father Mulcahy stood up more slowly, a uncomfortable half-grin on his face.
"I resent your resenting that, when you know it to be true," Hawkeye retorted, looking positively mischievous.
"I think I'm going to get back to the Good Book," Mulcahy said, his voice hesitant. He looked around at the group. Hawkeye and Hunnicutt were clearly amused, Charles was aghast, and Margaret was furious. They had fallen into a subject that he didn't delve into. He tipped his hat to the group. "Have… fun, everyone."
After Mulcahy left and Margaret was left standing up in angry silence, it was time for Hunnicutt to do damage control for Hawkeye. He hadn't been able to say much in the past couple of minutes and he was quite happy with his married life.
"I'll apologize for Hawk, Margaret. He can't speak for you and me, being as he's never taken that trip down the aisle. Now, when I proposed to Peg, all I could think about was having our own little family and growing old together."
"Thanks, B.J.," Margaret replied with a smile. "Don't worry, though; Captain Pierce's comments don't influence me in the slightest. He's just too terrified to open up and let a woman get to know the real him."
"Now, that's not true," Hawkeye blurted, his eyes wide with mock offense. "It's just, the zipper of my outer shell hiding the real me broke off last time I tried to let someone in. Speaking of which, you never did call the seamstress like you promised you would, Margaret. Was Klinger busy?"
"Has anyone seen Colonel Potter today?" Margaret asked loudly. The group of officers shook their heads. Sergeant Klinger, who'd been sitting across the room chatting with some enlisted men, turned towards the nurse.
"Last I saw him, he was on the phone," Klinger explained. "I'd tread lightly with him today—the conversation didn't look too pretty."
"Well, speak of the devil!" B.J. commented as Colonel Potter walked into the mess tent immersed in a Zane Grey novel, striding to the buffet line more out of memory than sight.
"I do believe you mean angel," Hawkeye added, "—that is, if Colonel Potter says yes to your request."
Margaret immediately strode over to the short commanding officer.
"Good morning, Colonel," she remarked, flashing him a disarming smile. He hesitated a moment before glancing up at her.
"Good morning, Major," he said. "You're awful chipper today. Have you heard something I haven't? Oh, I was headed to the mess tent for a reason." He looked off into space. "What was it again?"
"Well, it couldn't have been to eat," Hawkeye remarked. "Besides, Father Mulcahy isn't here for Last Rites."
"I do have a request to make," Margaret said to Colonel Potter, clasping her hands nervously behind her back. "As you know, it's been a week of ceasefire…."
"Yes," he said leadingly, glancing down to dog-ear the page he had been reading before the interruption.
"…And today happens to be the one-year anniversary of the finalizing of my divorce from Colonel Penobscot…"
"Happy anniversary—oh, I mean… I'm sorry to hear that, Margaret," he corrected, clearly distracted. He looked up at her to see a fleeting sign of irritation from the nurse. This was a typical reaction lately from everyone at the 4077th.
In this period without casualties and rushed surgeries in the O.R., the M.A.S.H. officers had spent far less time together, instead pursuing their own interests and drifting apart somewhat. In the past several days, Charles had been toting his phonograph and records into the hills to listen to his music away from the Swamp, whereas Hawkeye and B.J. had been taking golf clubs and teeing off somewhere far away from the minefield or drinking themselves into a stupor with the contents of their homemade still. Colonel Potter and Father Mulcahy had been holing themselves up in their respective tents reading westerns and the Bible, respectively. In addition, Mulcahy had spent two days of the ceasefire at the local orphanage helping out the nuns. Margaret spent most of her time preening and listening to her Doris Day records on her phonograph in the privacy of her tent, though on occasion she would venture out with Charles and sample some of the edible delicacies he'd bring along on his little trips.
"Is this a bad time?" she asked Potter, annoyed that he wasn't paying her the least bit of attention.
"No," Hawkeye yelled from the table. "We may not get another chance, Margaret."
"What are you cutting in for, Pierce?" Potter called out. "What is this all about?"
Margaret finally spoke, her head held high as her confidence returned.
"I would like to request—"
He held up a finger to cut her off, a big smile instantaneously appearing on his face.
"Lemme guess—three days' leave in Tokyo." He noticed her look of pleasant surprise. "I'll grant you that, Margaret. You've definitely earned it. Sounds like you need some real r & r."
Margaret's beamed at her commanding officer, her face noticeably brightening. Her smile was infectious.
"Oh, thank you, Colonel. You don't know how much this means to me."
"Just talk to Klinger and he'll get you the proper papers," Potter commented to Margaret. "If I'm not in the mess tent when you get back, I'll be in my tent reading."
Just then, Margaret glanced back towards the party of three at the mess tent table. They were staring at her expectantly. She hesitated a moment too long.
"Colonel," Hawkeye said, turning around on his bench and facing Colonel Potter. "Can Beej and I also have three days' leave?"
Winchester glowered at the side of Hawkeye's face for not including him, and then he looked towards the colonel. Hawkeye cringed as the expression on Potter's face turned to a grimace for a split second. That was all it took to know what Potter would say next.
Charles's keen mind could remember every sentence, every nuance of emotion as Margaret was unknowingly skirted away to safety and he was left in this hellhole to be gravely injured by a supposed ally. It played out clearly in his mind, the details of his memory still sharp in a fading world, seconds ticking by like minutes.
"Charles," Hawkeye called out, his voice distant. "Lie down so we can get some AB negative in you."
"Don't you dare close your eyes," B.J. added, lightly touching him on the back. Suddenly the moustached doctor pulled his hand away. "Guess there's no bullet to find—it went all the way through," he muttered, seeing his hand stained with Charles's blood. "He has two holes through the thoracic cavity." Immediately he grabbed the sheets off of a nearby bed and moved to Charles, holding them tightly against the wounds on his back and chest.
"We gotta get him into the O.R. but he needs to be stabilized first," Hawkeye called out. "Where's Colonel Potter? We need all the hands we can get."
Charles looked over at the blurry surgeon. Was Hawkeye insulting his weight? He couldn't reply either way and stood breathing noisily out of his nose and mouth. His face had since turned a shade of paper white.
"I'm gonna get some whole blood and a chest tube," B.J. said. "We need to get the air and blood out of his chest. You can hear it sucking. Here, hold this, Hawk."
"At least we can be glad that it didn't hit a major artery, Beej," Hawkeye muttered.
"How can you tell that from over there?" B.J. replied quickly.
"Well, for one, he wouldn't still be conscious."
Just then Klinger entered post-op. At the sight of a badly wounded Major Winchester, he ran over to Hawkeye's side.
Charles could tell that Klinger was now present—not because he could make out the shape of that gargantuan nose but because Klinger was, even now, wearing just a hint of cheap perfume. He recalled Klinger's role in Margaret's leave.
"Klinger, why don't you get Major Houlihan's paperwork started?" Colonel Potter told the company clerk immediately after Hawkeye had requested a leave like Margaret had just been granted. "Chop chop, time's a-wastin'." Margaret nodded excitedly at her C.O. and the Lebanese sergeant, and then glanced towards the three surgeons at the table who were awaiting the colonel's response. Klinger stood up and smartly saluted the colonel, awaiting Margaret's next move. Colonel Potter looked over at her, his eyebrows raised, a silent request for her to leave. Rather than question the colonel's behavior, she quickly strode out of the tent with Klinger in tow. Never had she imagined that that her request would go over so well.
After Margaret and Klinger had left the tent, Potter clasped his hands behind his back and spoke to the surgeons.
"I'd love to give you boys some time off but rumor has it that the ceasefire isn't gonna last another 24 hours. We'll need all the help we can get if we get bombarded with casualties."
"The other casualty in this war is my sanity," Pierce muttered. "No one seems to care about that. If nothing else, my sanity needs a break away from here."
"What are you talking about, Pierce?" Charles remarked dryly. "It's been on permanent leave since the moment you took your first breath."
Pierce looked mockingly indignant.
"Well, I gave that right back… but then I took it again." He exhaled loudly. "There—I gave it back."
It was then that Pierce realized something and looked at Colonel Potter.
"Wait a second here, Colonel. You just let Margaret go but—"
"Have you no shame?" Charles interrupted, standing up with hands firmly planted on the table. "Let the woman have her well-deserved break."
Both men turned to Colonel Potter, who had kept mum while they bickered.
"There are plenty of nurses who can aid with operations during Margaret's absence," Potter explained. Hawkeye wasn't satisfied with the explanation.
"Margaret could have been requesting anything, but you gave her three days' leave. Why'd you do that?"
"Pierce, how dare you—" Charles growled.
"Geez, Charles, are you Margaret's keeper or something?" B.J. commented.
"Gimme a second, you three," Potter murmured, holding up a hand. He strode quickly over to the mess tent entrance and looked around outside. Satisfied with what he saw, he strode back over to the group and stood over their table, leaning towards them. His voice was low.
"Promise me you won't tell Margaret what I'm about to tell you."
"You have my word," Pierce said, raising a hand as if taking an oath. Winchester and B.J. nodded solemnly. The three men leaned in towards Potter, extremely intrigued.
"Colonel Burns will be paying the 4077th a visit in the coming days," he murmured.
Hawkeye's eyes widened as he gaped at Colonel Potter.
"Frank Burns? But why?"
"I don't know, but I would guess he's been keeping tabs on Margaret all along. I'll bet it's no coincidence that he's expected to arrive on the one year anniversary of her divorce. That's why I sent her to Tokyo. I doubt he's stable enough to be trusted."
"It's too bad you weren't on his medical board back when his reign of terror began," Hawkeye muttered. "I wouldn't trust Frank Burns to stitch a shirt, let alone the person inside it."
Charles hadn't been filled in on this particular relationship of the man he'd replaced. Curiosity could be plainly seen on his face.
"Are you insinuating that Colonel Burns and Major Houlihan were once an item?" he asked the group. "I have heard all about his surgical incompetence time and time again and yet no one felt the need to inform me of this crucial piece of information."
Hunnicutt was the one to answer.
"I guess it's because it was so obvious to all of us and was in fact the 4077th's worst-kept secret. However, Frank's idiocy was no secret to anyone."
The emotions that Charles associated with Frank Burns at that point in time had been neutral at most. He'd certainly heard his share of stories about Burns's shortcomings and negative personality traits, of which there were many. The impending arrival of the much-maligned man had brought forth at that time curiosity and intrigue. It wasn't often he met a person who wasn't dazzled by Pierce's so-called wit.
Hawkeye directed Charles to lie down on the post-op bed directly behind him. Charles's eyes scanned the room to find Hunnicutt missing, namely because he was fetching the AB negative blood and a chest tube. He lie down with his hand firmly over the wound, pain shooting through the entirety of his body as his posture adjusted to the new position. Hawkeye was certain to hold the balled-up sheets against the exit wound on his back, which made lying down distinctly uncomfortable.
"You'll have to take this lying down," Hawkeye muttered, the subject matter lighthearted but the delivery grave. "Don't worry; Beej will be right back and you'll be able to breathe easy again."
Once Charles was flat on his back, Hawkeye grabbed some gauze and pressed down on the sheet-covered wound on his chest. This of course didn't make it very easy for Charles to breathe and only increased his pain—it was difficult to think in this situation, aside from the sound of the Sequentia from Mozart's Requiem Mass ever-increasing in volume in the confines of his brain. Just like Mozart's Requiem, his life would be an incomplete work; he was certain of it.
"Klinger!" Hawkeye yelled out. "Get me an Ambu bag and some more dressings! We need to stop the bleeding and keep him breathing."
Charles watched with terror-stricken eyes at the gauze immediately turning crimson as well as Pierce's off-white cast, in addition to the already-stained sheets. Clearly Pierce and Hunnicutt were top-notch surgeons, but could they save him from a point-blank gunshot wound to the chest?
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