Chapter 3

(A/N: You can read this chapter without seeing Chapter 2, which is pretty much PWP. But if you want the unexpurgated version, its at tv(dot)adultfanfiction(dot)net/story(dot)php?no600005303&chapter1)

"Brown!"

Major Houlihan's voice. I already recognized it, even after just a couple days. I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the compound and looked around. She was just exiting her tent, armed with a clipboard. "Major?"

"I've been talking to Major Winchester," she began, and I automatically opened my mouth to form a denial of anything he might have said, but she continued, smoothly, "And I've arranged for him to give you triage training this afternoon, when you finish your shift in Post-op. Report to him in OR at sixteen-hundred."

"Yes, ma'am."

I relieved Baker in Post-op, and as we did the handover I asked her why we were expected to do triage. "Isn't that what the doctors are supposed to do?"

"Sure," she said, "And that's what used to happen. But when there are waves of casualties coming in, and every second counting, it really helps save time. Gives us more responsibility too, which is kinda encouraging, ya know?"

I nodded, while she scribbled her signature at the bottom of the handover notes and passed them to me.

"S'funny," she added, "You'd think Hawkeye would have been first in line to tell us what we needed to know, given he makes such great show of being supportive and all, but when Major Houlihan came up with the idea, it was Doctor Winchester who came through for us. He's the one who taught us all about triage. Hawkeye and BJ behaved like a couple of clowns, and crashed the class to make a nuisance of themselves."

Somehow, that didn't surprise me. "So does Major Winchester do all the triage training then?"

"You betcha boots. Major Houlihan won't let the other two anywhere near it, and I don't blame her. Got yours scheduled already?"

"Right after I finish in here. Anything I should revise before I go?"

"Nah. You'll be fine." She gave me a wink. "Besides, I have a feeling he'll go easy on you."

"Don't see why he should," I muttered, going hot.

But she was already halfway down the ward, out of earshot.

I stared down at Sergeant Klinger, who was lying on one of the mess tent tables, pretending to be a casualty. He'd used what looked like mascara and red lipstick – wonder who he'd borrowed them from? – to paint a large cut and bruise on his forehead, and he gave a theatrical moan as I examined it. "Okay, cut and contusion," I began, conscious of Charles' attentive gaze from the opposite side of the table.

"Hey, miss, are you coming to the dance this evening?" said Klinger, grabbing my arm.

I pushed his hand aside. "Confused," I added to my diagnosis, "Which indicates he's concussed. Um… send him to X-Ray?"

Charles nodded, "Yes, and you must make sure he gets immediate attention. What if he appears to be lucid?"

I thought for a moment, but I hadn't had much experience in diagnosing emergency cases. "Can he wait?"

"No. Any injury to the head must be treated as urgent, whether the patient is unconscious, delirious, confused, or walking around talking to his comrades," said Charles. "Of course, in the case of Klinger here, it might be difficult to tell which of those applies anyway."

Klinger grinned, seemingly used to Charles' sarcasm. "I'll remind you that you said that, sir, the next time you enquire about access to the VIP tent," he retorted, winking at me.

"On the other hand," said Charles, who seemed completely unfazed by the cheeky way the Sergeant answered him back, "Klinger is the company clerk, and as such is a valuable and esteemed member of the 4077th. So we must do what we can to save him, mustn't we?"

Klinger put his hands behind his head and smirked. "Want to cover the chest wound next, Major, or the arterial whatsit?"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Surprise me," he said, before beckoning me across to the medical chart he'd pinned to one of the tent poles.

"Want to mop up some of that blood first, Max?" I asked, handing him a sterile wipe to scrub the stuff off of his forehead.

"Well, if you're not going to mop my fevered brow, I guess I might as well do it myself," he smiled.

"Klinger, stop distracting my class, or I'll put your nose in another sling," said Charles, folding his arms and frowning.

I hurried across to look at the charts, though I knew he wasn't really annoyed. I think Klinger realized it too. I was beginning to see that beneath the cheek and the sarcasm, these two actually got along, and respected one another despite their differences. I suspected though that the sun would turn to clinker before either of them would admit it.

"I really don't think you're paying enough attention, Lieutenant," said Charles, with a sigh. He glanced across the tent to make sure he couldn't be heard, and lowered his voice. "I think I'm going to have to give you a refresher in anatomy."

"Oh, good," I said, with a grin.

To be continued