'I've never been so fond of Olive drab and poor lighting,' I think as my eyes creak open like the gates of a mausoleum; excruciatingly loud in the silence, and horrifically ominous. This time, instead of the mustachioed visage of my best friend, I'm greeted by the 4077th's resident bombshell sitting at my bedside.

"Guess I didn't mess up as much as I'd intended. Tell Father Mulcahy I want a refund." My voice is raspy with sleep, and my throat dry with dust. Margaret looks confused as she pours me a glass of water. "I died and woke up in purgatory. I expected a one way ticket to hell! I planned my acceptance speech and everything."

She cracks a smile and gives a chuckle as she tilts the cool water to my lips. "Purgatory, Pierce?"

I smile and leer. "I've got a beautiful woman at my beck-and-call, but no privacy."

"Hawk! You're awake!" Beej is exuberant as he approaches my hospital bed.

"Ready for playoffs coach." I snap a mock salute.

"In a few days, once your head is finished healing, champ." BJ is checking my chart, but smiling. "Your stats are way up, kid. Keep up the good work and we can trade you to the dodgers."

"But coach, I play football. I don't know how to play baseball." I vaguely recall telling BJ about my college ball days as receiver for Androscoggin.

"Read up! Got anything else to do while you're lying in bed all day?" I know Beej caught the twinkle in my eye and set me up intentionally. Nothing like a friend who really gets you.

"Depends. Margaret, you busy?" My lecherous grin is hampered slightly by the inch thick layer of plaster and gauze surrounding my skull, but the faint dusting of pink over her cheeks proves I've still got it.

She scowls. "Oh, go suck an egg," and bustles off to check charts and fluff pillows. It's endearing how hard she's ignoring us right now.

I contemplate feeling guilty for a moment or two, but decide against it. I realize suddenly that she wanted a 'moment.' After the time we'd been in this hellhole together, I did feel she deserved one; however, 'moments,' tend to make me uncomfortable. That's one of the many reasons I value Beej so much - he's one of the few people capable of having complete conversations without saying a word.

Us butch guys at the front appreciate things like that.

The stool beside my bed creaks as BJ lowers himself into it. "I'll check your bandage later today, Hawk. Your head is fine." BJ sounds relieved enough to be me right now. "You'll be prone to headaches while the swelling goes down, and you need to be careful not to get up too quickly. The rapid change in blood pressure can cause dizziness. You also need to be more careful about getting hit in the head. Your boxing career is over." He doesn't crack a full fledged smile - a mere quirking of the caterpillar - in amusement, so I smile for him as I play along instead of reminding him that I'd also been to med-school.

"I had my whole career ahead of me."

"Even the beginning!"

"Now I'll have to use my back-up plan and become a doctor." I want to keep up the lively banter, but I can feel my eyelids drooping. I'll be glad when the constant need for sleep lessens to something I can have a decent conversation through, but concussions are tricky business. I I feel my blankets being tugged over my shoulders. "Goodnight, Gracie…" I murmer, allowing the darkness to take me once more.

OQOQOQOQOQOQOQOQOQO

The next time I wake it is dark out. I can feel night pressing in against the thin ply board walls, and each chirping cricket sounds like the velocity whistle of a thousand falling missiles in my ears. We'd had to bug out less than a week before my sojourn to the battalion aide station, so I'm not used to the new location yet. Being secluded in the heart of this Korean forest reminds me almost of camping behind Grandma Pierce's house with cousin Billy, before he tried drowning me in that pond. I have a few more horrors in my head now that make completely peaceful remembrances difficult, and instead of being soothing, the twisted slice of Americana sets my heart pounding and my lungs into overtime.

It isn't until I calm my racing pulse and steady my ragged breath that I hear similar signs of distress from the cot next to me. I search for the Attending Nurse, and glimpse a head of sleek blonde hair parted down the middle. Baker is dead to the world, and appears to be drooling prettily on the shift roster. I lift myself from the bed, waiting patiently for the room to stop spinning before I shift over to the cot of the soldier next to me. I take deep breaths to fight down my sudden motion sickness.

I angle forward, putting my fingers on the scratchy wool blanket just above the man's heart. "Hey. You doing okay?" I give him a quick medical once over. Shell fragments and a broken arm are my guesses. The right arm under the blanked looks remarkably thick, and I am fairly certain I can see the edge of a white abdominal bandage poking out from under the convalescence pajamas the army supplies us with.

I not surprised when he answers with a quick, frantic nod instead of words. His breath is coming in panicked little gasps and the lines around his eyes make me think we need to up his morphine dosage. I stand, fight down my dizziness and travel the fifty mile journey to the foot of the bed. I'm beginning to rethink my position on existing right now. My head is killing me and I'm about to lose track of up, but as usual I'm too stubborn to quit.

By the time I've translated the writhing symbols into words, "Miller," has recovered enough to eye me warily. "Baker!" My voice is far too loud for the confines of my cranium, but it has the desired effect of waking the slumbering nurse and rushing her to my side. "This man is in pain, I'd like to increase Sergeant Miller's morphine, please."

Baker is glaring at me as she pumps the extra opiate into the central IV line. "Captain Pierce, shouldn't you be in bed?" Her usual saccharine temperament is replaced by an icy demeanor.

"Care to join me?" I leer, throwing in a dashing yawn for added effect.

"Colonel Potter left my strict orders to sedate you if you try causing trouble in here like last time." Baker iss sounding remarkably militaristic. Either she'd been spending too much time with Margaret, or she is still angry at me for trying that thing with Nurse Able. They seemed like such close friends - who knew it was bad form to invite them both to share my sleeping bag at the same time? I certainly didn't, but you can't blame a guy for trying.

"Good thing I don't like repeating myself then. Keeps things interesting." Despite her harsh demeanor, her hands are gentle as she leads me back into bed and tucks the woolen blanket once again over my shoulders. My eyes fall on the man in the bed next to me, blue eyes meeting brown for a moment. I get the strong feeling that Miller is attempting to communicate with me, but I fall asleep before I can decipher what he's trying to say.