Title: No Rest for the Weary
Author: Lisa M
Pairing: None - Hawkeye POV, BJ/Hawkeye friendship
Disclaimer: Yeah … right.
Prompt: #11 Red
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 610
Summary: Hawkeye's daily life … sorta.
A/N: Another angst ficlet. Sorry guys. I promise … there will be some funny/lighthearted fics soonly-ish ;-) It's sort of choppy. That is intentional.
Day in. Day out. It's always the same. The boys are brought in and are laid out on the table before me . A human assembly line, they are shattered, torn, broken. Their lives draining out of them one crimson drop at a time.
It's my job, my responsibility to fix these ruined soldiers. Mend them with my scalpel and sutures. Save them with suction and sponges. Comfort them with words that I'm not even sure I believe anymore.
I spend my days pulling shrapnel from their bodies and when I'm finished, I knit their skin back together with white surgical thread. Hour after hour, I stand at my table and work until the work is done. I will stay until my feel go numb; until my fingers and wrists are throbbing. Until my boots are filled with the blood of so many men that I stopped counting a long time ago. Yet, here I will stay.
It doesn't matter that the seconds grow into minutes, minutes into hours, hours sometimes into days. I will be here with them, for them. I will do whatever it takes to save each and every one of them.
I don't. Sometimes one slips through my fingers. There's never any time to mourn those lost to me. Others are waiting. Some can't wait any longer. So I move on to the next in line.
And when the day is finally over, I return to the Swamp - the dirty, depressing rat-infested hole I call home, and collapse wearily onto my cot. BJ is waiting for me - he finished an hour earlier than I did. He hands me a drink and we sit, neither speaking, blanketed by the comfortable silence between us.
It's not always quiet. Sometimes we joke. Other times we complain about the absurdity of the war. Or we speak of home. Of loved ones missed.
Not tonight.
Exhaustion has drained everything out of us. There's nothing left for us to do except to be together.
My mind swirls dizzily as it runs through the list of names of all the boys I worked on today. Those that will be leaving this hell and going home. And the ones I will send back to the front. Thankfully, none were lost today. A loud sigh escapes me and I close my eyes. BJ's cot creaks as he stands. Moments later, I'm covered with an itchy wool blanket.
"Go to sleep, Hawk." His voice is soft, soothing. Just as it always is. "You need some rest."
BJ's words are beginning to echo as I drift away. I feel his fingers brush over mine as he pulls the empty martini glass from my limp hand.
"Thanks, Beej."
And then I'm asleep.
I should be at peace, but I'm not. The blood - it's still here, right in front of me, flowing behind my eyelids. Liquid. Hot. It colors my dreams crimson, turning them into horrific nightmares. I have no choice but to toss and turn until daylight comes once again.
When I wake, I hear the sound I've come to fear.
The dreaded 'thump' 'thump' 'thump' as high-powered blades slice through the warm, dusty Korean air.
I jerk upright and run my fingers through my hair, then across my unshaven chin. BJ is already on his feet and tossing me my stale clothes from yesterday. I dress as quickly as possible and slide my feet into my boots.
The announcement seems louder than normal. Almost ear-shattering. 'There are choppers in the compound. More wounded arriving. All medical teams report for triage immediately.'
I jump to my feet and realize my boots are still wet.
