Waiting. Hawkeye was horrible at it. He hated to wait. This time though, it was the hardest wait he had ever had. It took three days to culture the blood and get the results back from his test. Things went on with wounded coming in each day. Hawkeye, out of unsaid or blatantly shown sympathy was given the easiest cases – the ones where he got out first and were never serious. He felt like he was in his first year of residency. The surgeon was glad to have these surgeries though. At least with these he was less likely to screw something up because of his shaking hands or even infect his patients with the strange disease. To protect himself, Hawkeye put on three pairs of gloves. It was awkward, but he was damned if he would accidentally infect someone.

For three days, this was what happened. He would get up after two hours of sleep – Hawkeye could not sleep. His dreams were dark and his mind was always churning. Then, he'd get a cup of coffee and cardboard-like toast and go into surgery, never stopping until well past midnight. The casualties were even higher than usual. He took this as a sign the war was over and in fact it was. Both sides had to stop fighting in one week. Hawkeye would be going home. He was ecstatic, but his happiness was dampened with what lay ahead.

Waiting. I am still waiting. I hate it. This is tearing me apart. I wish, Hawkeye was thinking when a voice on the loud speakers said, "Hawkeye Pierce report to Corneal Potter's office ASAP."

He shoved himself out of the seat he was in and strode slowly towards Potter's headquarters. All eyes it seemed were on him. Everyone from camp had crowded into Klinger's office – Hotlips, Charles, Klinger, Mulcahy, and BJ.

"It'll be all right, my son," Father Mulcahy, "However it turns out. God has a purpose."

"I sure hope so, Padre," Hawkeye said grimly as the surgeon entered the office.

"Sit down Pierce," Col. Potter said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Pierce sat down in the chair and pressed his hands on the armrests. "What are the results," he asked softly and in a tired voice.

"I'm sorry, son…" the Corneal began. However before he could finish the results, Hawkeye cut him off.

"I have AIDS," the doctor whispered, "Damnit!" Roughly, the man pushed himself out of the chair and paced.

"I'm sorry," Potter whispered as he watched Pierce pace, "I'm going to also have to forbid you from performing any more surgeries. We don't know how catchy this is."

Pierce was not listening. He stormed out of the room. The crowd parted. Everyone watched the man walk roughly through the office and into Post-OP. Hawkeye went over to Private Michaels bed. The blond haired young man looked up at the raving doctor. "You son of a…" Hawkeye began as he planted his hands firmly on the foot of the bed, "You inconsiderate…how could you fight with AIDS? You signed out death certificates!"

"Doctor, what are you talking about? AIDS – what is that," the poor wounded young man asked. His big blue eyes stared up and into Hawkeye's gray ones. He breathed shallowly and in fear. "I-I'm sick? H-how…." Private Michaels asked.

Hawkeye looked at the twenty year old and backed up slowly. His shoulders slouched and the doctor looked depleted. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. AIDS is a disease that makes you susceptible to most diseases, sort of like cancer. Unlike cancer, right now there is no cure and nothing to help. Not much is known about it."

Slowly Hawkeye turned and left. Everyone had been watching and then had started to follow Hawkeye Pierce, but BJ stopped them. "Stay," he said, "Leave him alone. He needs his space. He needs his best friend." The tall, mustached man followed Hawkeye into The Swamp. Pierce was pacing. He looked like a caged wild animal. His eyes blazed, but not with anger. It was fear that welled in his eyes.

Suddenly, the doctor stopped pacing. He went to his bed. Hawkeye roared and upturned the bed and then he went to his open trunk and threw everything out and around. Finally, he stopped at the brewery, but did not tear it up as he had done the rest of BJ and his side of The Swamp. Instead, he sank to the floor and sobbed. "Oh, God, why," Hawkeye prayed, closing his eyes as tears well up into them.

BJ, who had not moved, finally left his spot in the door. The fellow surgeon placed an arm around Hawkeye and drew him close. "Let it out," BJ whispered with worry in his voice. This was the worst news Hawkeye or BJ had ever gotten and he did not want to hide his worry. His best friend was dying a slow and painful death.