In the dark of the night, I'll keep your secrets.
MASH Unit 4077. December, 1950.
The weeks came and went in much the same fashion as Virginia's first week in Korea. Wounded traveled through the hospital on a conveyor belt with every doctor, nurse, and enlisted man struggling to keep up with demand. She had seen enough blood, guts, and leftover artillery jammed inside bodies to make up her entire career. On the rare day of rest, men and women filtered around camp in search of distraction from the boredom and homesickness at their heels. More than once Virginia had stumbled upon lovers in a heated encounter in the back of the supply tent. She didn't blame them. The bitter cold seeping through her clothes, the endless days, and no promise of relief nearly had her going stir-crazy. What she wouldn't give for a gentle caress or warm embrace just to take the sharp edges off her mood… But Hawkeye was not an option and, unlike him, she would not turn to someone else for comfort.
They had fallen into their work relationship of old—before she'd known him well, before he'd asked her to dinner and she'd finally accepted, before their wedding, before the evening it all fell apart. She treated him with respect, assisted his surgeries when he asked, gave him advice when he needed it. But once her scrubs were in the hamper and her hands washed, she did her best to forget him. That was easier said than done.
For his part, he left her alone, though he'd taken it upon himself to place a mug of coffee at her breakfast spot every morning with little more than a hello. She suspected it was his way of searching for atonement; she wouldn't stop him if it made him feel better. She noted, too, that he wore her wedding ring on a thin chain around his neck. He kept it hidden beneath his shirt, but it had fallen over his collar post-surgery one afternoon and jingled alongside his dog-tags. The harsh fluorescent light had glinted off the gold band and reflected in a mirror on the wall. Virginia had left before her tongue betrayed her and asked why he kept it close. If she asked, she knew hope would flare in her heart, and hope had betrayed her more times than she cared to count when it came to her husband.
The first snowfall came earlier than anyone anticipated. Two weeks before Christmas, a cold front swept through the camp, chilling whatever heat was left inside a body or tent alike. The forecasted rain turned to snowflakes and settled on the frozen ground. Virginia found herself huddled alongside Radar O'Reilly and Margie that wintry afternoon. With their hands practically shoved inside the barrel heater in the middle of the mess tent, they traded stories of hotter climates in a sorry attempt to find warmth.
"When I was a child, my father took us to Arizona on one of his summer business trips," Virginia said. Puffs of white breath hung in the air after each word. "I remember thinking it was so hot my skin would melt off. Sounds delightful now."
Radar tugged the blanket wrapped around his head tighter. His glasses fogged with frost and his teeth chattered together like rocks in a rockslide. "I wonder if Hell is really as hot as they say it is…"
"Radar!" Virginia slapped his shoulder before tossing Margie a conspiratorial wink. "You can't say a thing like that when you look like the Virgin Mary! It's sacrilegious."
With a pout and a sneer, Radar pushed the blanket away from his head. He folded his arms tight over his chest. "You're just like Captain Pierce," he mumbled. "Always pokin' fun at poor old Radar. Now I see why he married you."
From her place facing the door, Margie sat straight. "Oh boy, here comes trouble." Her eyes slid to Virginia in an apologetic glance.
Virginia looked over her shoulder, though she knew what trouble meant without having to catch a glimpse—Hawkeye and Trapper. Sure enough, the pair of doctors, bundled in their winter coats, scurried across the compound toward the mess tent. Henry Blake followed close behind, a massive black case held against his torso. Trapper entered the mess hall first, shaking the wintry flakes from his sandy curls. He huffed air into his cupped hands before dropping to a bench on the other side of the mess.
"What's going on, sir?" Radar asked, rising from his spot.
"Movie night." Henry shuffled in behind Hawkeye. Cheeks tinged with a red flush, he set about constructing the movie equipment. "It's so damn cold out there I thought we might watch something to put us in a warmer state of mind. Why don't you go inform the troops, Radar? Tell everybody to bring all the blankets they can. I'm about to freeze my who-ha off!"
Radar left on a salute, dodging past Father Mulcahy on his way out.
The Father lifted a film canister as he entered. "There was no Treasure of the Sierra Madre, but I did find The Desert Song."
"Anything with desert in the title is good enough for me. Give it here," Henry said, his fingers wiggling for the canister, eyes wide with desperation. "Any idea what it's about?"
A thoughtful look crossed Mulcahy's face. "I believe it's a musical involving Nazis and a type of railroad. At least, that's what the canister description said. However, I have become wary of those descriptions…" Mulcahy tugged at his collar, clearing his throat.
From his place lounging on the sideline, Hawkeye piped up. "Yes, Father. We all remember the Great August Mix-up."
"Fondly, too!" With a wink, Trapper elbowed Hawkeye at the expense of Henry and Mulcahy's complexion. Both men turned blood red. Henry's fingers worked faster to thread the film in the camera while Mulcahy busied himself rearranging the benches.
"There's no need to remind us of that, Pierce." Henry's eyes flicked to Virginia and Margie. "Not when there are ladies present."
Virginia waited for the inevitable wisecrack she could see poised on the tip of Hawkeye's tongue. But when their eyes met, his mouth went tight and he looked away. She returned her gaze to the fire.
After a moment's silence where the only sound was the camera whirring and benches scraping against the floor, Virginia nudged Margie. "I'm not sure I want to know," she whispered, "but what was the mix-up?"
Margie groaned. "The films got switched. One of Henry's dirty films played instead of Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein."
Virginia laughed, clutching her hand to her chest. "That's quite the difference! And would I be wrong in guessing the mix-up was not an accident?"
"With those two," Margie said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder, "I doubt anything around here happens on accident."
The rest of the camp began to file into the mess, blankets and pillows and coats overflowing from their arms. Virginia rose to assist, thankful for the chatter which filled the crowded air between herself and the male officers. Despite their respect for her medical knowledge, her last encounters with Henry and Trapper had felt stilted and forced. Her marriage, as was often the case, must be to blame. She resolved not to let it bother her—though the list of things which shouldn't bother her was beginning to bother her itself. With a shake of the head, she tore herself from the bottomless rut of self-pity and frustration her mind had become as of late. This evening, she would force herself to relax.
"Alice, let me help you with that." She took one of the quilts in Alice's load and laid it on the floor alongside Margaret and Ginger. Over her shoulder, she could feel Hawkeye's eyes on her as she crouched to fluff the pillows and blankets piled in a heap. Irritation gnawed at her stomach. The man couldn't make up his damn mind! Her hands fisted the blankets as she fought to keep her temper at a simmer. Stubborn, foolish, vexing—
"Virginia"—Ginger broke into her internal tirade.— "sit here."
With a small smile, Virginia planted herself between Margie and Ginger. She tugged the quilt to her chin, relishing in the first wave of warmth her entire body had felt in days. She could practically feel her toes beginning to thaw.
"All right, gang. Listen up!" Henry stood before the camera, bathed in a hazy white light. He waited for the murmurs to settle before continuing. "Before we start the film, I want to remind everyone that we're double, triple, and quadruple bunking tonight. I heard tell it could get in the negatives tonight, so bundle up and find a buddy."
"Found mine!" Trapper lifted Hawkeye's limp arm for all to see. The nurses around Virginia giggled. When Trapper turned around and said, "Hands off—you missed your chance," she burrowed further under her quilt.
The movie started with a flicker of light and a pop of sound. Mulcahy hadn't been lying about the plot: men in suits and more men in traditional Arabian dress fought one another through song and dance over the future of a railroad. Virginia nodded off within the first ten minutes, worn to the bone by her emotions and relentless work schedule. If Dana Andrews or Jimmy Stewart wasn't on screen, she didn't care. And since neither actor had a part in the film, she had no qualms about sleeping her way through. When she woke hours later, the mess was near deserted. The camera light still glowed on the projector screen and forgotten pillows littered the ground. Ginger lay by her side, spooned by Spearchucker. Klinger lay flat on his back nearest the heater. Balloons of white frost curled in the air as he exhaled through his mouth. Sharing a quilt with him was Father Mulcahy, a wool knit cap pulled low over his brow. Virginia sat up and rubbed her eyes.
Outside the moon revealed the snow slowly building its way heavenward. Virginia stood, afghan snug around her shoulders, and stared at the blanket of white. It glistened in the moonlight. For a brief moment, quiet reigned in the camp. Since childhood, she'd always loved the sight of untouched snow. Snow had a way of bring the world to a halt, and in her war-torn world, she would take whatever moment of stillness she could find.
A shuddering sigh betrayed her composed façade. Two months since her arrival in Korea, two months since she'd given Hawkeye her ring, effectively ending their union. She glanced down. The ring's imprint she'd grown so used to over the years had faded. A lump caught in her throat. She missed him every day, loathe as she was to admit it.
A gust of wind tore through the afghan, and Virginia shivered. Her eyes darted to the tent across the path. The Swamp. She nibbled her lower lip. Considered. Reconsidered. Considered again.
Mind made, she pulled the afghan over her hair and sloshed her way through the snow to The Swamp. The door creaked as she pulled it open. From his spot on the floor, Radar moaned and Virginia froze in the doorway. He turned over, a teddy bear under his arm, and stilled. She counted to five before continuing her entry. Once the door was closed, she worked her feet out of her wet boots and left them by the pile at the door. Her socks padded on the worn floorboards as she made her way to Hawkeye's cot. He lay curled on his side, blanket pulled to his ears, a medical cap his head's only protection from the cold. Virginia's hand trembled as she pushed back the blanket and nudged him over.
"What—what is it?" His groggy voice spurred her onward. How she'd missed that sleepy tone. "Beth?"
"Hush," she whispered as she settled in beside him, tossing the afghan haphazardly over their bodies. "You'll wake the others." She kept her back to his chest, afraid if she faced him she would lose all control.
Hawkeye kept stock still. She could feel the rigidness of his muscles even as she worked to relax herself. How long had it been since they slept side by side? If she included his stint in training, she would hazard a guess at nine or ten months. Her body had forgotten what it felt like to be so close to another person, so close to him. Finally, she could stand his aversion no longer.
"Hawkeye, I'm cold," she breathed. Her fingers found his hand, squeezed it. "I'm just cold."
It seemed that was all the convincing he needed. His body went slack, and they found the familiar embrace of days gone by. He circled his arm around her waist, drawing her ever closer, and flung his opposite arm over their heads. The fingers of his free hand sifted through the hair escaped from her braid at the crown of her head. Her foot worked its way between his ankles until she could no longer tell their legs apart. Almost in unison, they sighed.
And fell asleep without another word.
.::.
A boot landing on the wooden floor jolted Virginia from her dreams. Her eyes snapped open, the breath in her lungs gone still. Behind her, Hawkeye lay motionless, undisturbed by life resuming around camp. His chest rose and fell in the smooth rhythm of sleep. Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of seconds as she reveled in the feel of him against her. He felt like home, comfortable and familiar. Another boot on the ground forced her to break free of her memories.
Good gracious, what time was it? She'd meant to slip out of the tent long before anyone else woke. But Frank, Radar, and Henry were nowhere to be seen. Across the tent, Trapper sat on the edge of his cot. He tied the laces of his boots with sharp, jerking motions.
"Sleep well?" he asked, his voice a hard whisper. His eyes never rose from his task.
Virginia tumbled off the cot and shoved her feet in her boots. With deft fingers, she undid her braid, shaking loose the tangles in her hair, before stealing a look at herself in the mirror on the post. She looked guilty, felt guilty. Trapper at her heels and the embarrassment working its way through every layer of her skin kept her from stealing a final glance at Hawkeye as she left the tent.
The fresh snow crunched beneath her feet, and a bright, cloudless sky pierced her eyes. She winced and raised a hand to shield her gaze from the glare. Though the storm of the previous evening was no more, the cold remained. She pulled her jacket tighter as she headed toward her tent. Trapper, uninvited, followed.
"You know," he began, his breathing winded as he pushed through the snow after her. "I'm not sure what to make of you, Virginia. You put Hawkeye off, tell him to get lost, then crawl into his bed in the middle of the night. Doesn't make sense to me. I'm sure as hell is doesn't make sense to him, either."
Virginia stopped walking. Her jaw clamped tight as she stared into Trapper's questioning eyes. "How's it any of your business?"
"Hawk's my best friend. We watch out for one another." He shrugged then added, "I just think the grapevine would find it a mighty interestin' story, that's all."
"I'm sure it would," she clipped in response.
Trapper's stare hardened. He stepped closer, his pointer finger accusatory under her nose. "He hasn't so much as looked at another woman since you showed up, you know that? No, I don't think you would. You're too busy making both of your lives miserable by showing him the door."
"Virginia, I'd like to speak with you, if I may." Margaret, appearing as if from thin air, touched Virginia's elbow and nodded her head toward the pre-op. She glanced between Virginia and Trapper, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I'll be right there." Once Margaret disappeared into the pre-op, Virginia returned her focus to Trapper. Her nostrils flared and she set her stance hard against the ground. "I'm sure if your wife knew about all your extra-marital activities she would show you the door as well, Captain."
Trapper did nothing to mask the anger which poured over his handsome features. "Hey—my marriage is private."
"So is mine."
Virginia turned on her heel before he could respond. Once in the pre-op, she found Margaret flipping through a clipboard of papers. She looked up as Virginia stamped the snow from her boots. Though the question was written all over her face, Margaret said nothing about the less than cheery interaction with Trapper. Instead, she shoved the clipboard in Virginia's direction.
"We have a problem on our hands, Captain," she said.
"Oh?" Virginia scanned the documents. The overly-political, highly-superfluous material blurred before her eyes. "How so?"
"There seems to have been a mix-up—"
Virginia shuffled the papers to the roster of nurses and corpsman at the bottom of the pile. "Like the one with Henry's films?" she asked, her brow furrowed in thought as she attempted to understand the memorandum.
"No, certainly not!" Margaret huffed. "That mix-up was due to the nasty, perverted mind of your husband and his best friend. Those two sat there laughing the entire time while the rest of us were horrified. Poor Father Mulcahy barely kept himself together."
Virginia's eyes flicked up at Margaret's accusation. She met the nurse's stony gaze with one of her own. A rosy flush colored the other woman's cheeks as the silence between them lengthened.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That was uncalled for."
Virginia returned the clipboard to Margaret. "I just—Sometimes I still feel—" She swallowed hard, shook her head. "Hawkeye's actions are his own. He should have to answer to them. But you didn't ask me here to talk about him. Tell me about the mix-up."
"A squadron of special forces has been temporarily assigned to our unit."
"I don't understand. Are they army medics? Doctors with special powers?"
"Nothing of the sort." Margaret pointed to a section of text with a lacquered fingernail. "This explains they are 'military elite with special training for…" She squinted as she read the words. "Espionage and otherwise.' However, a misfile in the home office has assigned them here instead of at the front or wherever their duties would take them."
"Okay then what's stopping them from being reassigned? Why is there a problem?"
"General Braxis—the team's commanding officer—believes it would be suspicious if the team were moved all of sudden. The team's mission is so secretive he believes people within the Army would work to stop them should they come across the paperwork."
Virginia rubbed her forehead. A dull ache grated against her skull. "You're telling me a group of soldiers are coming to our camp for an undetermined amount of time because some general thinks his boys in green are so special his own army would sabotage them?"
Margaret put her hands on her hips. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds asinine."
"It is asinine, Margaret. We don't have the room. We barely have the room for our own wounded. What are we supposed to do with them?"
"That's why I came to you." Margaret shoved the clipboard back in Virginia's hands. "Coronel Blake wants you and I to reassign the nurse bunks. The team has ten members so we need to move about eight or so nurses in order to make room."
"When are they coming?"
"By the first of the year."
Two weeks. Virginia flipped once more through the papers. She scanned the nurse roster in a new light, her mind working to formulate the best solution to an idiotic, unnecessary problem. With the beginnings of an idea of who could be moved and where, Virginia tucked the clipboard under her arm.
"I'll get to work on it."
"Thank you, Captain." Margaret headed for the door before turning to say, "Really, I am sorry about you and Hawkeye. It's a shame when there's another person between you and the one you love."
Unbidden tears pricked the corners of Virginia's eyes. She wondered if the entire unit had their own opinions on her marriage. What did Mulcahy think? Or Klinger? Or even Frank? Her wounds, her shame, were open for all to probe, it seemed. Yet Margaret's words held truth. The night spent in Hawkeye's arms only reinforced how much a shame their failed marriage was, how much they both had lost.
"I'll get to work on those reassignments," she said again, putting an end to Margaret's pity and her own wishful thinking.
She was tired of pining after yesterday, after the memories and the feelings and what had been. Like she'd told Margaret, Hawkeye had made his bed. It was only natural for him to lie in it. None of her hopes could change that. It was time for her to move on.
A glimmer of excitement, of anticipation, lit in Virginia's chest. Perhaps this mix-up wasn't all bad. Perhaps the squadron would be a welcome distraction to her mournful state of mind… Time would only tell.
A/N: I just wanted to thank everyone for your continued support on this story. This has been such therapy for me, so I'm thankful for the kind responses to something that helps keep me sane. Up until now the plot has been rather slow to build a foundation, but it's about to pick up—yay! Please let me know your thoughts/reactions!
