Disclaimer: I don't own MASH I'm just playing with the characters!
This is a rewrite of another story I had posted but have since taken off. Oneshot! Character death, ye be warned!
Hawkeye Pierce stared into his empty martini glass. When had he taken the last drink? And when was last time he had even stared into a glass that wasn't filled with some kind of comforting liquid? The bad coffee from the Mess Tent not included. He shook the questions out of his head, wishing the alcohol's numbing effects would kick in. One drink, two drinks. If he wasn't careful, he would drown in it, but than that seemed like the way to go: drowning in a stiff drink straight from the still, right after operating on a kid too far gone to have even bothered with.
What had he been? Eighteen? Lying on that operating table with a hole in his chest and shrapnel is his shoulder, the wounds covered in mud. Hawkeye bitterly wondered what the hell that kid had been doing so close to the Front, his fellow soldiers so outnumbered that it was a shock any of them had survived. It was a shame the boy's commanding officer had lived because Pierce was going to kill him. Bobby 'Bullseye' Trent died living up to his nickname, while Lieutenant What's-His-Face got off with a few pieces of shrapnel in the leg!
"Get up Pierce! And put what ever it is you're drinking away! You're a doctor, start acting like one!"
Hawkeye looked up at the door just as Frank entered the Swamp. Was it the alcohol that was giving him a headache? God, his eyes even hurt.
"What is it Frank?" he asked, noting that his voice sounded almost as drained as he felt. No snappy comebacks today, not when his body felt like one big ache. Not when all he could think about was Privet Trent.
"Colonel Potter wants to see you. Now!" Frank sat on his cot, pulled off his boot and started rubbing it with shoe polish. "And put on your Army regulated uniform you twit! Always wearing that stupid house coat…"
He trailed off in a profusion of mutters.
"Why not," Pierce said, sarcasm creeping into the words that escaped him. "I haven't taken a shower since I left the OR, there's still blood under my nails, and my uniform is covered with soldiers' blood from when they came off of the trucks! But if I look more 'War Regulated' in that army garb than who gives a damn!"
By the time he was done saying this, his voice had risen to an angry shout, and Frank's beady eyes only made matters worse.
"THIS GODDAMN WAR!" he yelled and stormed out of the Swamp, martini glass clenched tightly in his fist, its cool glass his only hook to the reality he wanted nothing to do with. That very same reality that was giving him that splitting headache.
He passed Margaret and swore under his breath when she gave him a look full of sympathy and a light touch on the arm. It just made the war more real when the ones that were supposed to hate you pitied you. The truth was, he knew she didn't really hate him, but it was a comfort to think so. A comfort to know that in the middle of all the hell that surrounded them here, Margaret 'Hot Lips' Houlehan's sharp tone and fiery temper kept him grounded. Houlehan, and a few drinks in the Swamp.
Hawkeye entered Colonel Potter's office, his mouth setting in a grim line when he saw the man sitting in front of the desk.
"Hey there Sidney," he greeted in a fake light manner. "Come to tell me I'm crazy? Well don't trouble yourself, the voices in Frank's head passed the message along already."
"Sit down Pierce," the Colonel said softly.
"I'll stand."
"You're not crazy, Hawk," Sidney Freedman said simply. "You know that."
"Than why am I here?"
Colonel Potter's eyebrows knit together tightly. "Now come on Pierce, Sidney's here to have a chat with you, that's all!"
"Sorry Colonel, but I'm not in the chatting mood."
"Horse hooey! Now listen here Pierce!" the Colonel barked as he stood up from behind his desk. "You can bet your bottom-!"
"I lost it in a bet already," Hawkeye said to Sidney.
"-That you're gunna go back to the Swamp, offer the Major here a drink, and talk about what happened earlier! And you're not coming out until you're finished!"
"Yes mother," Hawkeye muttered, leaving with the psychiatrist in tow.
Neither said a word until they entered the messy tent.
"I like what you've done to the place," Sidney commented lightly.
"Yes, but unfortunately I can't do a thing about that annoying noise that keeps coming from that side of the room," he gestured to Frank who was in the process of polishing his other boot. The hard edge in his voice was still evident.
"Oh, shut up Pierce! What do you know?" Frank asked, putting his boot back on and standing up.
"Enough to recognize that the buzzing in my left ear seems pretty familiar, Frank," he growled in reply. His head was still pounding and Frank's voice wasn't helping.
Frank left in a huff; his whines could be heard leaving in the direction of the Mess Tent.
"So what happened Hawk?" Sidney asked, taking the offered drink and sitting on B.J.'s cot.
"If you didn't already know you wouldn't be here Sid," Hawkeye replied, emptying his martini glass in one go. He refilled it again and when Sidney didn't say anything he went on. "I was in the OR for so long that when I finally got out I couldn't remember what day it was. I was too exhausted to fall asleep, and when it came down to it I realized I didn't want to because the blood is just as red with my eyes closed, as it is with them open. I operated on an eighteen year old kid last night that'd been hit so bad it was no surprise they called him Bullseye. And he would have really lived up to the name, had he lived at all!"
"So it's the boy's death that's bothering you," Sidney ventured. Hawkeye emptied his glass and- without a word- refilled it. "But he's not the first one you've lost. There've been a lot more before him, and there'll be a lot more after him as well. We're in a war Captain Pierce. You're a doctor, not God."
"It's a good thing too," Hawkeye said bitterly, "or I might actually do something good around here for once! Answer a few of the prayers that seem to keep getting lost in the mail!"
"You know, Captain Chandler- the patient who thought he was Jesus- once told me something that might be worth knowing."
"Oh do tell! One nut's advice to another! All I need is a crazy man's words to keep me in touch with insanity! The Son of God's no less!" sarcasm seeped through Hawkeye's words.
"I asked him if God answers all prayers," the other man replied, ignoring the Captain's raving. "He told me that God did, only sometimes the answer is 'no'."
Hawkeye was silent, standing there beside the still, and when he looked up, his usual smiling eyes were hard. They were filled with a terrible sorrow that sent shivers down Sidney's spine. He wondered if Hawkeye Pierce would ever smile again.
"Tell that to Private Trent's mother."
With that he set his martini glass down and left the Swamp looking more like a lost man than he ever had before.
"You're not crazy," Sidney said to the air where Hawkeye had been. "You're the sanest man I know."
B. J. arrived back from Seoul that morning only to be pulled directly from the jeep and into Pre-OP. He didn't come out of the OR until nearly midnight. Hawkeye had lost a patient- the last one of the night- and had yet to return to the Swamp. As B. J. understood it, Hawk had lost a boy just the night before and had been testy since than. He could only imagine what this loss would do for his mood.
Hawkeye had been silent the entire day, only speaking to tell Margaret what he needed. The final kid was brought in at the last minute, some poor Korean boy (twelve years old at the most) who had been shot by a sniper near his village. When B. J. had caught sight of the kid he couldn't even count the number of bullet holes in his chest. It was a wonder he had made it all the way to the camp. As the others were finishing up with their own patients, B. J. kept one eye on his roommate as he tried in desperation to save the boy. When it was clear the boy was dead, Margaret tried to pull Hawkeye away from the body but it was no use. Beej watched as Hawk gave the boy CPR, getting blood all down his front. He never stopped shouting. It took both B. J. and Margaret to pull him away from the body and when they finally got out of Post-OP, Colonel Potter took Pierce to his office to talk. B. J. hadn't seen him since.
He rolled over on his cot, trying to ignore Frank's obnoxious snoring, but to no avail. Pressing his pillow over his ears, he hoped for quiet, but the sound was just too much. He longed to have Peg sleeping at his back, and he could almost feel the rise and fall of her chest as her arms encircled him. That thought alone caused his eyes to gently fall and his mind to drift off into pleasant sleep (or as pleasant a sleep one could get in war times).
He would talk to Hawkeye tomorrow.
Sherman had never seen a man with dead eyes in all his lifetime, which was a long time when you considered it. He would have preferred not having to tonight. He refilled Pierce's glass, and for the first time the Colonel could remember, Pierce didn't take a drink.
"What's going on son?" he asked softly.
Pierce stared into his gin. "He wasn't the first one I've lost. He won't be the last, not even close. Yesterday- two days ago? That kid was eighteen. This one was twelve. Tomorrow he might be forty, in a week he might be thirty-eight. But they all have something in common!" here he laughed bitterly and Sherman felt his heart break. "They all die before they've even had a chance to live."
He set down the glass, stood up and walked out just as Radar was walking in.
"Hey Hawk…eye…"
The greeting went unnoticed.
"Don't worry about it Radar," Sherman assured the boy.
"Yes sir."
"Do me a favour and-"
"I'll call Sparky and get Major Freedman-"
"-Call I-COR and get Sidney Freedman back here!"
"Yes sir."
Radar left in a hurry leaving Sherman to wonder yet again how the hell that kid did it.
Hawkeye walked around the dark camp, unable to sit still. He needed a break. He needed Crabapple Cove in the summer when the sun was reaching up over the housetops aching to meet the sky, the lush grass between his toes and a steaming cup of coffee clutched in both hands. He needed his father sitting on the porch behind him reading his copy of 'The Last of the Mohicans', every once and a while reading aloud a passage, his voice sounding like rustling pages to Hawkeye's ears. He needed Dan Pierce to look up over the top of his book and say:
"This is life, Ben. This is life in its entire splendor. It's moments like these that make up heaven and moments like these that make up the memories that keep us alive."
Hawkeye had been in the war a long time. He tried in vain to recall one heavenly moment from the time he had arrived to this very minute as he placed his forehead on one of the wooden posts that made up the frame of the Swamp. He thought and thought, and tried to remember but he only came up with blank. Somewhere in there, amongst all the memories of being at the MASH 4077th, Hawk knew there had to be good memories. He just couldn't think of any and it was driving him crazy.
He felt like one of those kids on his operating table. Like the war had taken away any chance of living life like life ought to be lived. It was as if God was laughing at him, handing him one casualty after another, and every time one didn't make it God would take a portion of Hawkeye's own life as restitution. Only, so long a time had passed, and so many boys and men had lost their lives that Hawkeye had long since lost track of his own.
And as if the death around him wasn't enough, his head felt like it was going to explode, his back was killing him, and he felt as if someone was continuously bashing him with a two-by-four.
"Captain?"
The hesitant voice made him turn.
Margaret stared at him, her thin eyebrows fixed together in concern. Hawkeye stood up straight and ran a shaky hand through his hair. There it was again. That sympathetic look that made him want to scream. He lowered his eyes and turned his back on her.
"Goodnight Margaret," he said and walked into his tent.
B. J. was sleeping soundly and Frank was making as much noise as physically possible. For the first time in a long time, Hawkeye hardly heard the Major's snores. Though he hadn't slept days, as he lay awake on his hard army cot, he thought he might never sleep again.
Breakfast at the 4077th was more a test of bravery than an actual meal. Sometimes while taking a bite out of the 'eggs' B. J. had to make sure they didn't take a bite out of him. The coffee was a different battle all together- keeping it down, that is. That morning, however, B. J. wasn't paying much attention to his meal (which wasn't exactly a bad thing). He looked across the table at Hawk who was staring dejectedly into his coffee, and wondered when his friend's black hair had started going gray. And when had the life begun to drain from Hawkeye Pierce's eyes, leaving no light of the laughter that had been there before?
"You alright Hawk?" B. J. asked trying to mask the worry in his voice.
Hawkeye didn't answer. He continued to stare into his cup, but B. J. could tell it wasn't the coffee he was seeing. Radar, who had just sat down, looked across at the Captain then to Beej and asked:
"What's the matter with Captain Pierce?"
All B. J. could do was shrug. The war got to them all eventually, he was just worried that maybe it was taking Hawkeye for all he had. What worried him most, though, was how much he had left.
"Attention! Attention! In coming wounded, choppers, ambulance, and jeep! Sorry folks but up and at 'em!"
B. J. turned to look at Hawkeye but he was already gone.
Post Op was packed, the OR was packed, and Pre Op was so full they were putting casualties in the Mess Tent. Hawk, Beej, Frank, and Col. Potter had been in surgery for fourteen hours and Radar reluctantly assured them it would be twice as long before they got out.
"Forty-two hours?" Frank whined.
"Good job Frank," B. J. said dryly, "your math is improving."
"Quiet down over there!" Col. Potter barked. "It'll take less time if we keep the chatter down people, now shut up!"
It was silent after that, or as silent as an operating room could be. Margaret, who was working with Hawkeye, noted his dark mood. She wondered how long he would last here. She, who had grown up with the army, could hardly stand it and he, who had known nothing but Maine, wasn't going to make it much longer.
The blood wouldn't wash off of his hands. It lingered in the crevices and deep lines of his palms, and stained the surface of his pale skin. It discoloured the whites of his fingernails, hiding under their short-cut curvatures. Hawkeye couldn't see it, but he knew that beneath his latex gloves, his hands were covered in crimson.
"Clamp."
It was as though someone else had said it.
"Suction."
He was standing on the other side of the room, watching as the man who had stolen his face stuck his hands into a boy's belly.
"I can't see a damn thing. More suction."
He was vaguely aware of Radar saying that Post Op was finally empty.
"Captain, it's clear."
He blinked. His eyes hurt.
"Why is that light so bright?"
Pain jolted through his neck.
"Captain-"
"More suction Margaret!"
Everything was murky. He couldn't see where his hands were or what they were doing. His head was pounding. When he looked up, Margaret was nothing but a blur. The whole room was blending together, spots were appearing at the corners of his eyes, and his legs were getting shaky. Someone shouted something but all Hawkeye heard were muffled sounds coming from all around him. Finally, his knees buckled and the darkness took over.
"Will someone please tell me what the hell happened back there?"
B. J. was shaking. He, Margaret, and Frank were standing in Col. Potter's office. Sherman was sitting behind his desk and Sidney was leaning against one of the filing cabinets, having just arrived.
"We told you he lost a kid before you got back," the Colonel said sighing. "My guess is everything just caught up to him."
"Has he been sleeping?" Sydney asked.
"Last night? No idea," B. J. answered dejectedly.
"He got in late," Col. Potter said. "I had a talk with him after surgery, and that was well past midnight."
"And he was walking around the camp after that," Margaret added quietly.
"Before last night?" Sydney pressed.
They all turned to Frank. He shifted under their stares.
"He's been getting in late, that's all I know! In late, and up early."
They were all quiet.
"I'll talk with him when he wakes up," Sydney said. "But I highly suggest you let him off for some R & R, Colonel. He needs it."
The Colonel nodded and dismissed them. B. J., Margaret, and Frank left, Frank whining the whole way.
"Why does Pierce get to go on R & R? We're all sick of the war! So what if he passes out? It's his own fault if he doesn't want to sleep! A good doctor would-!"
SMACK.
B. J.'s fist stung, but probably not as much as Frank's face did.
"Benjamin 'Hawkeye' Pierce is ten times the doctor you will ever be Frank!" He seethed, standing over the Major who had fallen to the ground. "And the next time I ever hear you say otherwise, you had better hope that someone cares enough to even bother looking for your body!"
With that, B. J. stormed off to the Swamp. Frank whimpered and looked to Margaret for comfort. All he found was her icy glare.
"Go do your rounds in Post Op Frank. And stay there."
She followed B. J. and they entered the Swamp, leaving Frank in the dirt.
Beej sat down on his cot, looking at Hawkeye's sleeping form. Margaret sat next to the unconscious man and smoothed away his graying hair.
"His forehead is hot," she said, placing her hand on his forehead.
"That wouldn't surprise me," B. J. replied, lying down. "Who knows how much sleep he's gotten these past few days?"
"By the looks of him, very little if any."
The Captain placed his forearm over his eyes. "When Post Op clears up, we'll put him there if it gets worse."
"That will be at least two days," Margaret warned.
"I doubt he'll need it. His body is just reacting to the lack of sleep."
The Major nodded, and left the Swamp. B. J. needed to sleep too; they all did.
The next three days passed by with slow succession. It took that long for Post Op to clear up to a manageable number of casualties, and that long to ensure a bed for Hawkeye, who's health had taken a turn for the worst. On day one he was delirious and had a migraine. By day two he had a high fever and was vomiting. Day three was a combination of days one and two, and day four added his aching body to the mix.
"It's meningitis, no question about it," Col. Potter said, looking at Hawk's charts.
B. J. swore under his breath. "Severe?"
"Looks like," the Colonel replied despondently.
Margaret's hand went to her mouth. "But that could be fatal!"
"Don't I know it. But there's not much more we can do for him now that we're aren't doing already. We've just got to try and keep his fever down and-"
The Colonel was interrupted as Hawkeye's body jerked violently in his bed. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his legs jolted wildly.
"Seizure!" B. J. shouted, jumping onto the bed, and turning Hawk over onto his side.
"Doctor! His robes!" Margaret shrieked.
Beej tried as best he could to unbutton the neck of Hawkeye's robes, but his friend was wrenching so fiercely that it made it impossible.
"He's gunna choke goddammit!"
Hawk's face was turning red, and he was foaming at the mouth.
"B. J.!"
"I know Margaret! I know!"
"Do something!"
B. J. finally managed to undo the buttons and sighed with relief as his best friend's face slowly returned to its most recent shade of pasty white. After what seemed like hours, Hawkeye's body stopped shaking and went limp. Margaret looked at her watch and her face fell.
"That was two minutes over ten sirs."
Col. Potter swore loudly. "Twelve minutes! There could be complications. B. J.? B. J.?"
"Hawk?" B. J. whispered weakly, so quietly the others had almost missed it.
Margaret and the Colonel looked down at the two Captains. B. J.'s eyebrows were knit together in confusion as he lifted Hawkeye's wrist.
"NO GODDAMMIT! NO!"
He must have done CPR for a good twenty minutes. She must have shrieked at him not to stop for just as long after that. What a sight they must have been to all the other patients, the Head Nurse and two doctors screaming and crying and holding some man's head to their breasts in hopes of bringing him back. And the Colonel, taking Margaret into his arms with tears streaming down his old and weathered face. What a sight. And then there was B. J. who was sobbing fiercely into Hawkeye's robes, yelling at him to come back, that there were more kids out there being blown to bits, and Beej couldn't fix them all on his own.
"Y-YOU IDIOT! LEAVING M-ME ALL ALONE IN THIS H-HELL H-HOLE! H-HOW D-D-DARE YOU! C-C-COME B-BACK!"
Margaret held tightly to the Colonel, and he buried his face into her hair, both of them crying away. They held each other as though if they let go both would be lost forever.
"Come back!"
The Swamp felt empty. Hawkeye's mess still covered the floor, one of his socks hanging out of his helmet the other never to be found. B. J. sighed. He had to pack it all up and send it off to Maine to Dan Pierce. He hadn't even made it through the ceremony they had had, let alone this. But he would try; for Hawk's sake he would try.
First he drained the last of what was in the still into a bottle and capped it. He opened Hawk's trunk and immediately let out a shaky laugh. Out of everything the man had crammed into the stupid thing, his dirty magazines had been rewarded the top of the pile. Hawkeye, you dog! He thought smiling. After rummaging through the contents of the trunk, B. J. dumped it onto his friend's empty cot. He would refold all the clothing, wash out Hawk's martini glass, pack up his trinkets and buys from Seoul, pack up the bottle of the last of the drink, and then he would send it off. He would say goodbye once again. And he would write Dr. Pierce a long letter, telling him every single thing he could remember about Doctor Benjamin 'Hawkeye' Pierce. Every memory- every detail- from how he had stolen a jeep on B. J.'s first day, to the fact that he always sniffed at his food before taking a bite. And then he would write to Peg and tell her all of those things too. And ICOR, B. J. would write a long letter to them as well, about how much Hawk had hated the army and the war and the colour green. Oh, how he had despised that colour!
Beej sat down heavily onto his cot. He took a shuddered breath and ran a shaky hand through his sandy Californian hair. How did life ever get to be like this? When had they let it happen? Just last week the two of them had been running Hot Lips' underwear up the flagpole, laughing their heads off. And now? Now everyone was shut up in his or her tents, sunken in the misery one Hawkeye Pierce had left in his wake.
B. J. was vaguely aware of someone entering the Swamp. He noted the hand on his shoulder and leaned into it.
"He isn't ever coming back is he Sidney?" he sighed.
"You know the answer to that B. J."
He nodded. Sure he knew, but knowing something wasn't always a comfort.
"How are you feeling?" Sidney asked, breaking through his thoughts.
"Like the war is taking everything it can from anyone it can get its hands on."
"What are you going to do with the still?"
B. J. shrugged. He really had no idea. He couldn't exactly send it back to the States, and he didn't feel right using it anymore. "I really have no idea."
"Well," Sidney said standing up and walking over to the now empty still. He rummaged through his pockets and produced two pennies. "For the man who always gave his own two cents, usually when it was most needed." He dropped them in. "Here's to you old friend."
Beej nodded and followed suit.
"Here's to Hawk and everything he ever said that was worth saying, and even some of the things that weren't."
A/N: Don't hate me! The story just got away from me a little, so you know...it had to happen...in a way. Heh heh. Don't flame me!