A/N: Watching the episode "Out of Sight, Out of Mind", I was struck by how easily Hawkeye seemed to deal with the possibility of permanent blindness. There has to be a missing scene there somewhere, I thought…….

Update Note: Thanks to Laurashrub for pointing out that Charles wasn't at the 4077th at the time of this episode, so Hawkeye couldn't have been using his tape recorder! I've now made the tape recorder's owner nameless. It's nice to know someone's watching out for the details!

Into Darkness

Dear Dad,

I bet you're surprised to get a tape from me instead of the usual handwritten epic. Well, your next delivery could be a surprise package too – one son, slightly damaged. You might need a bigger mailbox.

Here's the story, Dad. Where the North Koreans and army food have failed, a humble stove may have succeeded. Things literally blew up in my face, and I'm sitting here with my eyes bandaged until the ophthalmologist from the 121st comes back tomorrow. Then I'll know if I'll have to take out a subscription for Nude Volleyball Monthly in Braille.

Damn! Hang on…..

Dad, the noise you just heard was me knocking over my Martini. Although groping in the dark is normally my speciality, broken glass is probably off limits to a man in my condition. I'll just have to hope the others aren't too long in OR, and someone rescues me before I sever an artery trying to get to the latrine, or lying down for a nap. Drink could be the death of me yet.

So here I sit. The enforced inactivity is almost the worst thing. I'm supposed to be taking it easy, but unfortunately nobody's told my mind that. So I find myself with too much time on my hands and only a borrowed tape recorder to talk to, and thoughts start ricocheting around the darkness in my head like bullets in an empty garbage can. But the one that always echoes the loudest is this - there are no blind surgeons.

I can tell BJ is worried about me, but I keep brushing him off with talk about how wonderful the rain sounds, and what a rewarding, enriching experience this whole thing is. It's all front. I'm screaming inside. To the world in general, of course, good old Hawkeye is just fine – thumbing his nose at fate with a smile and a cynical joke. It's how people expect me to deal with things. But the truth is, I'm not dealing with this thing at all.

Are you disgusted at my self pity, Dad? If you were here, would you tell me to pull myself together, to remember the thousands worse off than me, to consider all those blind people who live a rich and full life? There's a kid in post-op who was blinded by a grenade; I told him to be grateful he's going home to his family alive. Why can't I follow my own advice?

I see death every day. We all live with the possibility that we might not make it home, or that we might be badly wounded - but I never considered that I might have to live the rest of my life with an injury like this.

There are no blind surgeons. Where does that leave me?

I'm so scared, Dad.