They had been in surgery for 34 hours straight
Title: Here for You
Author: Dana Katherine
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Don't own them, never will, not making any money, blah blah blah….
Summary: When Hawkeye's sick, who takes care of him? Like you couldn't guess….HM. My first MASH fic.
They had been in surgery for 34 hours straight. All the personnel were starting to feel the drain, but one doctor in particular was showing it the worst. His eyes were red and glazed, he seemed to be perspiring more than anyone else, and he seemed distant and slightly incoherent.
"Captain? Dr. Pierce!" came from Klinger.
He was startled. "What?"
"Your patient has been gone for 5 minutes, you can go now," came the reply.
"Oh, alright." He stumbled out of the operating room to the change room. His head was throbbing, his muscles were achy and he thought at any minute his stomach may jump out of his mouth. He found Colonel Potter sitting on the bench with his eyes closed.
Without opening them he said, "I sure hope you're going to bed, Pierce. You look like you could keel over at any moment."
"How do you know? Your eyes aren't even open," came the weak reply as Hawkeye stripped off his scrubs.
"Well, you've looked like it all day, so you can't look much better now."
Hawkeye tried to laugh, but it just made his head swim. "Well, that is where I'm headed Colonel."
"Good."
The younger man left the tent and ran directly into Margaret.
"Sorry, Margaret," he managed and started off towards the swamp.
"Hawkeye, wait. You haven't eaten in forever. Come to the mess tent and eat something with the rest of us."
The thought of food, especially from the mess tent, made his stomach lurch. He shook his head, "No, thank-you. I need a nap first. See ya later." He started off for the swamp only to come to the conclusion that he was about to see, again, what little food he had managed in the last however many hours. So instead of entering he detoured and walked around to the back.
Margaret had been watching him, and seeing him walk around back worried her. She ran after him, and found him on his hands and knees heaving onto the hard ground. She knelt down beside him and placed one hand on his forehead, which revealed his high fever, and used the other one to rub his back. When he was done, he sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth. "I'm sorry," came a whisper.
"Hawkeye, you have no reason to be sorry. I'm sorry you're so sick."
He shook his head, "You don't have to feel sorry for me." He tried to stand, but his legs were too shaky. He started to fall, but she reacted fast enough to prevent it and helped him to his feet. His head swam again, and he really just wanted to lie down. He suddenly realized he was half-way to the tent, but not his. "Where are you taking me, Margaret?" he slurred.
"To my tent, for isolation. We can't have you infecting Winchester and Hunnicutt. One surgeon down is enough, let alone most of them as you surely well remember." They arrived at the tent, and she opened the door as he staggered in. She caught his shoulders and helped him sit on the bed. He dropped his head to his hands and groaned. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and some aspirin for your fever. Don't go anywhere." With that she left.
He really couldn't have left, even if he wanted to. He gingerly looked around at her tent. It was much more colorful and cheerful than the swamp. But then again, that's probably how it received its nickname. This was all her, and he loved being in here. Usually his presence here upset Margaret, but not recently. Ever since that night behind enemy lines it seemed her walls had started to crumble, and she, if it was at all possible, even seemed to enjoy his presence at times. He knew he sure enjoyed hers. Suddenly the world was spinning, and he flopped over on the bed.
She returned to the tent to find him sleeping. She hated to wake him, but she needed to get his fever down. And at any rate, his sleeping face down in the pillow worried her a bit, anyways. She sat the items down and shook him gently. At first he did not stir and a brief panic washed over her. She shook him again, harder, and he finally managed to groggily raise his head. She helped him back up to a sitting position.
"Here. Take these, and then I'll let you sleep." He swallowed the pills and gave back the glass. She helped him out of his fatigues until he was in just his shirt and shorts. He was too sick to protest, or be embarrassed. She laid him down and covered him up, and then stood for a moment, running her fingers through his hair, willing his pain away. He wanted to make a comment, joke like his usual self, but he was too sick, too tired. He simply just allowed sleep to pull him into its blackness.
A/N: Ok, so there's the first chapter. I have more, but I wanted to get a feel of what people thought of the idea first. Yeah, I know it's been done before, but I jumped on the bandwagon late so bear with me. Love it? Hate it? Please let me know!