Classical: I do not own MASH

Suicide is Painless, takes on many changes, and I can take or leave it if I please.

- Theme from MASH

It started in Post-op. One of the patients used a piece of glass to cut his wrists. He wanted out of the war. It didn't surprise me, everyone seemed to want out of the war. Pierce was frantic. He didn't want the kid to die, not like that. He watched him day and night making sure the kid was getting better. No sleep at all. The swamp was pleasantly quiet... but I couldn't sleep... the look on that boys face reminded me of something... my own.

No, he didn't look a thing like me. Red hair, green eyes, while I have brown hair and blue eyes. That look of desperation... wanting out. Wanting out of life. But he's different. He most likely has a girl friend that loves him and a family that wants him home safe. I on the other hand. A wife that wouldn't kiss me on the cheek if her life depended on it. He has his friends, I have a picture of my mother. Not to mention an ex-mistress that won't even be my friend anymore...

I don't act like it, but it hurts knowing that no one around here likes you in the least. That I'm the butt of everyone's joke. That my feelings don't matter, I'm just ferret face, the one that you love to hate.

As I was contemplating my situation, Pierce walked in and collapsed on his bunk not saying a word staring up emotionlessly.

The kid didn't make it. If he was still alive Pierce would still be there. I know more about Pierce than he thinks. I admire him for some of his qualities, but his actions towards me hurt. His and Trappers, and now Hunnicut's. Even the Colonel gets a good laugh out of the last practical joke pulled on ferret face. I know even Margaret enjoys their shenanigans sometimes, but I don't mind. I would laugh to if the joke weren't on me.

Pierce started rubbing his eyes. Was he... crying? No, not Pierce. He was tired most likely from staying with that kid so long. He was one of the strongest out of all of us. He had been here the longest out of all of us. He put up with death night and day and he never shed a tear in front of me at least. But I could see it... he was crying. I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to comfort him or help him in some way... but what would he care?

"Damn it..." He muttered under his breath.

"Pierce... what's the matter?" I asked unsurely. He looked up at me and I could see his eyes were moist.

"The kid died," he answered rubbing his eyes again, "And, well, and I don't know, I just don't know anymore." He muttered standing up starting to pace.

"I mean... he chose to do it. He chose to die." There was something about this that wasn't right. Pierce never seemed upset about death before. Well I know he hates it. He would punch death in the mouth if he ever got the chance, but he was used to this by now. That's what scared me the most. We were all used to this massacre.

"Aren't you used to it?" I asked quietly.

"That's a horrible thing to say Frank." he said flatly. He was right it was.

"You never, ever get used to it." He muttered. He looked over at me.

"Even you, you hate losing patient or are you too cold for that?" He asked. He prepared himself for a lecture from me. I wasn't in the mood to play the villain tonight though.

"No, I never get used to it." I muttered. He seemed surprised at my honest, tired, words. He collapsed on his bunk again running his hands through his hair.

"Why are you so upset?" I asked.

"Why would you care?" he countered.

"I'm not as selfish as you and everyone else takes me for." I muttered.

"I'm sorry Frank." This time, it was my turn to be surprised.

"I don't think I've ever given you a chance." He mused to himself, "It just seemed to click, the way it went. Me the insubordinate Captain, you the bossy major." he was right in a way.

"I can't get it out of my head..." he said quietly. I said nothing letting him continue at his own pace.

"I can still see his face, green eyes open, brown hair."

"He had red hair." I said.

"..." He said nothing looking down. He looked back at me.

"The reason why I was so affect was because my best friend back in high school committed suicide... and I was the one who had the luck of finding the body. It's one of the reason's why I became a doctor... to stop that... to stop death... just stop it and make it go away." I nodded.

"I just can't stand it..." I muttered, "I keep seeing it, all around me death, death, death and then someone just knocks on deaths door. I hate it so much. I don't want to see it again, I don't even want to hear about it again!" I frowned.

"You can't escape from death." I said.

"Yes but you could at least run from it for a while." He answered. He looked over at me.

"Frank, sometimes, you're alright." He abruptly left. I'm sure that the conversation would mean nothing by tomorrow and I would be a joke again. He felt uncomfortable and was most likely wondering why I was being so nice to him. I was wondering that myself. The first time he played a joke on me I decided we could never be friends. I think he decided it too. I felt sympathy for him. What he must have went through. I wonder... what would happen if...

I took out a bottle of pills that I had under my pillow and stared.

'Painless...'

And I can take or leave it if I please...

and you can do the same thing if you choose...

Classical: Frank contemplating death.