At the moment, I am beta-less, so if anyone is interested (or still reading) just email me or drop me a PM or review!

No excuse for not updating this chapter, just my laziness.

Chapter 3

It Was His Fault and the Dreams about It

Daniel should have known he was hoping for too much. Even before OR began everything seemed to be going downhill. Hawkeye lost two patients. One looked barely older than 13 or 14. He didn't speak much after that. He jaw was set into a defiant clench that refused any matter of comfort or condolence. He kept his eyes locked on the patient, determined not to murder another one. I've broken enough people's hearts. Why destroy even more families. His voice was tight with tension and unexplainable anger; angry at the war, at the patients, at the doctors, at the nurses….at himself.

"This one is done, I can take another," that was the most he had spoken in the last five minutes, and the utterly silent OR blanched at the tone in his voice: sharp, cold, and bitter.

"Take a break, Pierce, you've worked enough," if Hawkeye noticed the commanding tone in the Colonel's voice he gave no indication not did he seem to care that they were all staring at him, worry coating their features.

"I said I can take another one."

"And I told you to stop."

Their eyes met from across the room, a silent battle of wills, just waiting for one side to loose enough ground. Hawkeye was aware of dark orbs burning into his back. Squaring off his shoulders defiantly he snapped off his gloves and spun on his heel leaving the OR. Seeing the pain and desperation in his eyes, no one had the heart to follow him.

………

Murder, murder, murder….that's exactly what he was….a murderer. If only he tried a little harder. He should have seen the shrapnel stuck in the lung. The minute piece of metal tearing away at the tender tissue that created the fragile little human body that he couldn't save. He was useless. What did the army need of him, anyway? Some doctor he was. Killing two people in mere hours, he didn't deserve his degree. He didn't deserve to have the honor to be called the saver of lives. Frank Burns was probably even better than him.

I'm a murderer. He ran a hand through his hair in aggravation, the silver streaked raven locks falling carelessly into his eyes only for him to brush them away again. I should have done better….

Jackson was right…..I'm no doctor…

With that revelation set into his mind he plopped down on his hill again, wrapping tired arms around his knees, drawing them to his chest he rested his weary head and let his mind wander through his own guilt and pain. He knew that if any one would care he would just scare them away….

Adetoun

Carlye

Margaret…

That one was the one that hurt the worst. He really believed that he had finally found someone that would love him, oddities, insecurities, fears, horrors, nightmares, enemies, idiosyncrasies and all. But he was wrong…again. He went over the scene in his head, over and over again looking for something that he did wrong. Something that drove her away. Something that made her stop loving him…that is if she ever loved him at all.

Maybe it was just another façade. Another lie that he was forced to live through….

He realized after he relived that moment that everything he did was his fault. He did speak to her when she asked if he was alright. He didn't tell her that she didn't have to leave when she asked. He didn't tell her that at that moment, with all those fears and nightmares still swimming in his head, all the horrors and pain he lived through still freshly scared on his mind….at that moment…he needed her more than anything in the world.

He didn't tell her that.

So it was his fault.

Like it always was.

………

He dreamed.

She was there. And he smiled. She was his first love. His light in darkened times. His princess. His Adetoun. It was amazing the light-hearted times one could have chained to a wall and dining on moldy bread and musty water. She never did tell him why she came to see him so often. It would disgrace her and her family if she was found socializing with the American slave. The punishments for her dishonorable acts would be vicious…if she got caught. She was the daughter of the wealthiest family in the colony; one of the only African families in the colony. At the time Africa was ruled mostly by Europeans so something that didn't seem normal, wasn't actually that strange.

"What are you doing back here?" she proceeded to unlock him from his chains handing him ointment for the bruises on his neck. If he was lucky it wouldn't scar.

"I bring food." Her English was broken and no better than his grasp of her language, but some how they managed to communicate. The 13-year-old took the offered tray, it wasn't much, and it didn't look very appetizing, but it would sustain him.

"Ikati better?" Ikati was the Zulu word for cat. He wasn't quite sure he pronounced the word right, but she understood him none the less.

"Dead," that was self-explanatory; she used her fingers to draw an 'x' over her heart. She was very sad.

At that moment he would have sought to comfort her, but tonight was different. The guards stood outside waiting for her and she knew it. Their relationship, friendship, love, whatever it was to be called was found out.

He never did see her again.

………

The scene shifted.

He was in her apartment. She was crying and it was his fault.

"I'm sorry, Hawkeye," the words were meant to comfort him, to somehow ease the pain of his broken heart, but they did anything but, "I just can't live with this tension…this fear."

"Carlye…"

"No, I'm not going to risk getting hurt……on your account."

He withdrew sharply as if it was a physical slap in the face, "I think I understand." He turned his head away, "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough for you."

………

Now he was back in Korea. Was he still dreaming? He couldn't tell anymore. He was still in his clearing. Still fighting with inner turmoil that threatened to drive him mad, except this time Margaret was with him.

"If you don't want me to stay, just say so. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want."

He didn't answer and neither did she say anything, but she didn't need to. He could see the hurt and pain and confusion in her eyes. It broke his heart to think that he was the cause of such pain. Even as he watched her retreating back he wanted to say something. Call her name. Just tell her that he loved her. But he was afraid of what the response would be…or if he'd get a response at all.

………

He wasn't sure what woke him. Maybe it was the morning sun creeping over the hill. His hill. Maybe it was the obnoxious sound of shelling miles off into the distance. Maybe and most likely, it was his own mind, his internal clock kicking on, telling him that his habit of being forced awake at dawn a long time ago had yet to be broken. Either way, he was now awake, stiff, but awake. It seemed his external wounds had mostly healed. Not accounting for the dislocated shoulder that was stiff every morning, the 6 broken ribs and 2 cracked ribs, and the internal bruising and the torn muscle, other than that…well…he was fine.

But he had come to this conclusion a long time ago.

He misbehaved. That's why he was beaten…

It was his fault.

End Chapter 3

It Was His Fault and the Dreams about It

TBC