Dependable

The next afternoon's six-hour O.R. session marked the first postponement of Henry's scheduled monthly lecture to the enlisted men, which Trapper and I had been so looking forward to: how to detect and receive treatment for the various venereal diseases running rampant throughout the ranks, plus an explanation of some new Army initiative designed to hamper the V.D. epidemic. As doctors, the medical part of the subject matter would be familiar territory, but we'd placed bets on how far Henry would get through the lecture before making a run for it. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt: a blanket coverage of V.D. in general with no mention of symptoms or treatments. Trapper was betting that he wouldn't make it through the introduction before bolting. Unfortunately for Henry, the Army was pretty desperate to reduce the loss of manpower experienced during certain V.D. treatments, as well as what had to be massive expenditures on various prophylaxes and medications.

Trapper and I were repeatedly disappointed over the next few busy days as wounded continued to arrive at a steady pace. Finally we had a full day of no new patients, and Henry reluctantly scheduled his lecture for that afternoon. The tent was packed before he even arrived. The only notable absence was Father Mulcahy. Apparently the priest had checked the bulletin board before the lecture this time.

I'd tried to instill Drew with some of my enthusiasm, but for some strange reason he wasn't sold on the idea of a V.D. lecture as entertainment. He sat dubiously on my left, while Trapper, to my right, elbowed me into upping the ante on our bet.

"Twenty," he bid with a poorly-suppressed smile.

I called his raise. "Alright, twenty. But, he doesn't have to say the name of the disease or use any medical terms." Trap wasn't pleased with my stipulations, but I reminded him: "I'm placing a wager here, not banking on a miracle."

"Okay, okay, fine," he allowed with a grin and a rueful shake of his head.

Henry walked in right on time, appearing somewhere between nervous and terrified. "Alrighty, men, settle down," he said with a tremor in his voice, as Radar propped up a new poster – for once a semi-helpful list of steps that the men were to take if they suspected that they'd been exposed to V.D., as opposed to the uninformative cartoon scare tactics that the Army usually preferred, or the familiar non-faces of Figure A and Figure B.

The crowded tent only fell silent, unsurprisingly, when Radar shouted above the din. Once their collective attention was caught, though, everyone settled quickly into a seat, seemingly quite eager to get down to watching Henry become a basket case in six seconds flat. I knew I was.

"Now, uh, thanks for making it to the lecture, you guys. I know we've had a rough few days, and I apologize for all the reschedules. In the interests of keeping this brief, let's all listen quietly, behave, and get this over with as painlessly as possible." Henry waited for the tittering to die down. "Now, I'm supposed to tell you men about this new program that the Army's implementing in regards to… to, uh…." Mouth agape, he scanned the sea of expectant faces before trying a different tack. "Well, you see, if you find yourself with a… certain problem…." Once again, he trailed off, looking lost, before turning in desperation to the poster beside him. "Well, first of all, report for treatment right away, that being the most important thing to do, ah, first." With his wooden pointer Henry smacked the poster, where the same step was already clearly spelled out, albeit more concisely. I heard a few chuckles break out behind me at either Henry's vague lecturing style or how he'd essentially resorted to reading off the list that everyone present was already perfectly capable of understanding on their own. "And, the Army wants you to—to undergo a process called contact tracing, where you try to, er, pinpoint the—the origin of your… certain problem, which would allow the Army to document the, uh, source so that she can be... documented, to prevent someone else from becoming infected with that certain problem themselves."

My hand shot up and I tried not to start laughing before I even got the question out.

Henry pretended not to notice my raised arm. "Now, being stationed at a MASH outfit already, you won't have to go to a Pro-Station like, well, most of the other boys who come down with, ah, with this problem…."

I waved my arm vigorously until the C.O. finally sighed, shook his head, and asked with obvious dread: "What, Pierce?"

"What, exactly, might this certain problem be?" I asked mischievously, unable to suppress a wide grin. I heard Trapper on my right attempting, quite unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh.

Henry looked irritated, knowing full well that I, and every other man in attendance with the exception of, perhaps, Radar, was well aware of the topic of the discussion. He opened his mouth, likely to point that out to me, then paused and looked around the tent, seeming to remind himself that he was, after all, supposed to be explaining the subject at length. "Well. Ah. Well, there's a number of different… sorts of… this kind of problem, all of which are spread, uh, through… through contact with certain types of women."

I tried – I really tried – to assemble a politely attentive expression, but I just couldn't keep the corners of my mouth from curling upwards.

"And what types would those be?" Trapper prompted when Henry seemed to have stalled, eschewing raising his hand after he saw how effective it had been for me.

Our C.O. fixed us with an exasperated glare but pasted a tight smile on his face. "You know, you two are more than welcome to come up here and give this lecture yourselves," Henry pointed out, rather threateningly in my opinion. "In elaborate detail." Yep, definitely threatening.

"But you're doing such a great job of it," I cackled. I'd fully intended a straight delivery. And failed miserably.

Upon seeing my heroic struggle for some – any – sort of seriousness, Trapper cracked up, falling onto my shoulder and grabbing my arm to hold himself more or less upright. Our humor spread to the nearby enlisted men, and the effects snowballed until the rest of the tent had followed our cue. As I laughed I looked around and realized that the only people without at least a grin on their faces were Henry, Frank, Hot Lips, a puzzled Radar, and… and Drew. Drew, who was sitting forward on our bench, watching Trapper lean against my shoulder with a grim expression.

Henry had obviously had enough. "Okay," he said over the din, "well, if you men find yourselves stuck with this certain problem, you go to these two clowns," he said smugly, pointing at me and Trapper with his wooden stick. "Play show-and-tell, go into lots of detail, and I'm sure they will be thrilled to be the 4077's 'certain problem' doctors." He shot us a look that practically screamed 'serves you right.' "Dismissed," he said to the tent at large. In two long strides he swept out of the mess hall.

Drew sent me a glare and followed Henry out of the door at a fast clip. I sighed, feeling the humor slip from my face. Prior experience told me that Drew wanted me to follow him, to ask him what was wrong, and then to listen meekly while he dressed me down for whatever had angered him this time, but I was done playing his games.

Trapper, seeing my expression, looked warily from me to the door Drew had nearly knocked off its hinges. His grin faded in turn, but I pounced on a distraction before he could remark on the corporal's behavior.

"You owe me twenty bucks," I told him, affecting smugness.

His eyes narrowed for a split second but he mercifully didn't bring up my friend's dramatic exit. "Oh, come on, Hawk," he wheedled, letting me off the hook. "That lecture didn't even break five minutes, and most of it was Henry stuttering."

"Hey, you're the one who said he wouldn't make it through the introduction." I pointed to the poster still standing innocuously at the front of the tent. "He got to step two." I held out my hand, palm up. "Pay up, bunkie."

"Eh, I left my wallet in my other pants."

"Yeah, well, don't forget I know where you live."

·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·

After finishing my shift in Post-Op I retired to the Swamp. I knew that Drew was off sulking somewhere, waiting for me to hunt him down as some part of a passive-aggressive maneuver designed to test how much I cared about him. So I pointedly didn't go out to the O.C. or Rosie's or anywhere else where I could potentially run into him.

Drew made contact first. I was sipping unusually smooth lighter fluid from my martini glass in the deserted Swamp. (When the alcohol was given more than two hours to age due to multiple marathon O.R. sessions we tended to get a decently palatable batch – assuming no one forgot to stock the still.) Frank had disappeared with Margaret after dinner and Trapper had relieved me on Post-Op duty, so I was mildly surprised at the knock on the door.

"Entrez," I called, looking up from my magazine. I felt my expression become guarded when Drew stepped through the door. "You finally get tired of the passive-aggressive bullshit and decide to just come by and yell at me already?" I asked, a bit bitterly.

He ignored my sniping. "How's it going?" he asked, tone subdued and eyes averted.

I eyed him warily. "Like you actually want to know."

One corner of Drew's mouth quirked upward as I called him out and I tried to ignore how absolutely adorable his expression was. He had a seat in the chair next to my cot and I could smell the alcohol fumes emanating from him even over the flavor of my own gin.

"I need a favor," he finally admitted, slurring his words slightly.

"Uh huh." Why was I not surprised?

"Major Houlihan put me on report."

And now he wanted me to bail him out of his trouble. Well that didn't take long. "What for?"

"Well... I was a li'l drunk when I went on guard duty earlier today, and, uh, I might've snuck off a few times to have a drink or three at that Korean bar across the street."

I shook my head at his idiocy. "Yeeeah, there's no way I'm going to be able to get you out of that one," I informed him before turning my attention back to my magazine. Even if I'd wanted to, there was no smoothing over something that stupid. Not that I was feeling so inclined at that moment, regardless.

"She stuck me with guard duty again for tonight, as punishment I guess."

I shrugged, flipping a page. "Could've been worse. You could've gotten K.P."

Drew grunted noncommittally.

"You… might want to sober up before they change the guard," I advised, lowering the magazine again to more thoroughly assess his level of inebriation. Drew grimaced. "What time does your shift start?" I asked him suspiciously.

"Uh. Five minutes ago," he said sheepishly.

"Brilliant," I muttered with a roll of my eyes. I climbed out of my cot and crossed to Trapper's side of the tent. After a bit of rummaging around I came up with a stick of gum. Thrusting it in Drew's direction, I advised, "Chew this while you go take the fastest shower of your life."

He clumsily plucked the gum from my fingers, then eyed me with obvious disappointment. "So you're not going to help me?"

"I just did!" I said in exasperation with a wave of my hands. "This isn't Androscoggin," I emphasized. "There's no sweet-talking your professors into giving you an extra day on your project because you were 'sick.' This is the Army. There are consequences for slacking off, and if you don't get your ass in gear you're going to become more well-acquainted with those consequences than I think you really want to be."

"Alright, alright, fine," Drew grumbled. He stood and took a quick step toward me. I pulled back, not knowing what to expect, but he simply ran his hand gently over my face, tracing my lips with his thumb. I guessed that it was his way of showing affection without angering me with his blatancy. I gave him a half smile and then a gentle push toward the door.

"Hurry," I reminded him softly.

Popping the gum into his mouth, he rushed off to the showers.

·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·

In my dream I was back by the creek, sandwiched between Drew and the hard boulder in the darkness, wanly lit by a half moon. The rough surface of the rock was uncomfortable against my back, but my passion once again overruled the physical discomfort. As before, Drew's breaths were heavy and labored, but his movements were off and when a warm liquid began cascading over my torso I realized that something was very, very wrong. I pushed his unresisting body off me, quickly rolling him onto his back on the top of the boulder that I'd just vacated. My hands swept over his chest and I found that his shirt was saturated with blood. The coppery smell assaulted my senses as panic shot through my body. Hastily yanking the soaked shirt off over his limp arms, my heart skipped a few beats when I saw a gaping wound where his smooth chest used to be. His lungs were laid bare and blood jetted powerfully from his aorta with each beat of his heart, liberally spraying my face and neck.

"Drew, you're going to be okay," I said desperately even as I felt his blood dripping down my face. "I'll fix you. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

I balled up his t-shirt and pressed it to his ruined chest, but it was almost instantly soaked through, as if by magic, and the pressure I put on it didn't seem to be of any help at all. He moaned pitifully and I actually felt his lungs deflate through the makeshift dressing. They didn't expand again, but blood continued to gush from the wound. I felt the strong spurts even through the mound of fabric in a surreal fashion that could only seem physically possible in dreams, and looked around the creek bed frantically, as if a clamp would miraculously appear nearby, only to find piles of bloodied gauze littering the ground. My hands were dripping in the warm liquid, and soon I was drenched in what was certainly more blood than any one body could possibly hold.

Shifting around his body while maintaining pressure on his chest, I used one hand to open his mouth, leaving bloody fingerprints on his pale skin. I caressed his lips with mine and forced secondhand air into his lungs.

"Drew, listen to me," I pled as I waited to see if his body would respond. I felt his blood coursing down the arm holding pressure on his wound, flowing steadily from my elbow onto the stones at my feet and into my right boot, which soon began overflowing. "Stay with me. I'll save you. I can save you."

But I couldn't. He was bleeding out, and all I could do was stand impotently at his side without a clamp to my name, watching the life fade from his eyes in the soft moonlight. Soon the pulsing of his heart came to a stop, bereft of any fluid left to pump.

"Drew, no. Please, no." I cupped his unnaturally white face with blood-covered hands. "I love you. I wanted you to know that I love you. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me," I begged urgently. But it was too late. He was gone. His dark eyes clouded, fixed unseeing at the stars. I'd failed. I couldn't save him, and he died not knowing that I loved him. Devastated, I draped myself over his suddenly cold corpse in a mockery of the position we'd been in several moments earlier and shivered.

I woke in my cot in a cold sweat, still shivering, and realized that I'd kicked my blanket to the floor. For a moment I could still feel Drew's lifeblood covering my hands and sliding down my face. I realized with great relief that the wetness on my cheeks were tears and not my friend's (lover's?) blood.

I snatched the blanket from the floor and pressed it to my chest as if I were the one hemorrhaging, curling my legs up around the cloth to provide extra pressure.

I didn't love him... did I?I trembled and felt a couple of sobs wrench their way from my throat, just barely managing to pull the blanket up in time to muffle the sounds. No. No, I'd learned my lesson last time. I wasn't going down that road again.

Despite my denials, a nagging doubt took root in the back of my mind: if I wasn't in love with him, then where the hell had that vivid emotion from my dream come from? And why had it had such a powerful effect on me? I lay there for several minutes, collecting myself, thankful that I hadn't woken my bunkmates with my cries.

Once my breathing was under control I made myself loosen my grip on the blanket and uncurl my legs. I shakily swung my feet to the floor and rose, knowing that there was no way I'd have the courage to fall back asleep, had that even been possible.

Coffee. Yes, coffee would fix this. Something certainly had to. I snagged my robe, hastily wrapping it around myself, and fled the tent as silently as I could, as if running away from the Swamp would distance me from that nightmare.

The temperature outside the tent quickly informed me that I should probably have grabbed my jacket as well, but I was too rattled to bother returning to fetch it. I made my way quickly toward the mess tent.

"Halt!" I heard a very familiar voice call out to me, tone teasing. I almost collapsed in both shock and relief. "What's the password?" Drew asked playfully, shifting his rifle to attention.

I quickly switched directions, nearly running headlong into his body. I buried my face in the crook of his neck and shoulder, pressing myself to him and ignoring the weapon sandwiched between us that dug uncomfortably into my chest and abdomen.

"Woah there, honey." Confusion and concern colored his tone. "You okay?" he asked before realizing the very obvious answer to that question. "What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath, comforting myself with his scent, and resisted his effort to push me away. Eventually he distanced himself from me long enough to swing the rifle over his shoulder, then pulled me into his solid embrace.

"Hawk, you're shaking. You've got to be freezing." He gently guided me to a nearby bench and, sitting me down, settled closely beside me, taking my bare hands with his gloved ones. With a furtive glance around, he pulled open his coat, lifted his shirt, and pressed my cold hands to his warm (whole, undamaged) torso, jumping slightly at the contact with my cold skin. "What's wrong?" he asked again softly.

I shook my head, leaning into his warmth. "Bad dream," I explained succinctly.

He pressed his hands to mine through his shirt, silently encouraging me to leave them warming against his skin, then lifted one arm to wrap it around my shoulders, pulling me close. His other hand smoothed my hair and stroked my face, wiping away the remnants of my tears.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." With another surreptitious scan of the compound he pressed a kiss to my temple, then rested his forehead against my bowed head. I was honestly too shaken to be worried about being spotted. "Is there anything I can do?" He paused a moment in thought as I remained silent, taking comfort our closeness. "You want some coffee?"

A heartfelt half-smile formed on my lips and I found myself feeling grateful for how well he knew me. "I was just heading to the mess tent for a cup, actually."

"Let's go brew some fresh," he suggested, gently pulling me to my feet. I let him escort me to the deserted tent, tucking my significantly warmer hands under my armpits but keeping my side pressed against his for the short walk there.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked tenderly as he parked me at the nearest table. He chivalrously pulled off his heavy jacket and draped it over my shoulders before busying himself with the coffee dispenser.

"Not really," I replied tersely. It wasn't something I really wanted to reflect upon at all. I never took my eyes off him, irrationally afraid that if I looked away I'd turn back to find him gushing blood.

"Okay," he said, tone positive and supportive. "If you change your mind, I'll be here all night."

I gave him another smile, this time managing to curl both corners of my mouth up slightly. "Thanks, Drew."

He graced me with a fond smile of his own. "Anytime."

I found myself wishing that that could be the truth, but I knew that one thing I could depend on him for was to not be dependable.

Finally the smell of coffee permeated our area of the tent and he brought me a steaming mug shortly after, taking one for himself and settling in beside me, pressing his side to mine. He again stretched his free arm over my shoulders, rubbing my bicep reassuringly through my robe and his jacket. Still a bit spooked, and secure in the knowledge that the compound was utterly deserted, I nestled my head against his shoulder, only breaking contact to take sips from the mug. Between the warmth of the coffee and the warmth of the man beside me, I was eventually calmed enough to return to bed. The caffeine didn't seem to have its usual kick, and I fell asleep soon after settling into my cot. I didn't dream again.