A/N: I've finally passed through my writer's block and have finished this story! There are a couple more chapters, so please review!
Less than an hour after the shooting in the post-op ward, Charles's pulseless body was being pressed and pushed and pumped in attempts to restore his heartbeat and his life, and Frank was being entrusted with the life of a patient. Frank stood wordlessly in the operating room, gaping down at a couple pieces of shrapnel embedded in his patient's small intestine. A nurse held up the x-ray taken of the man's trunk, which clearly showed seven shrapnel fragments scattered around the man's abdominal cavity.
"There's one, Doctor," his nurse said, pointing at one of the fragments. He sneered at her.
"I see it," he retorted. "I may no longer be practicing, but I'm not blind."
"Ha," Pierce snarled. "Could've fooled me, the way your patients used to turn out."
"Pierce, that's enough," Potter growled. "Just because you can't do surgery right now doesn't give you the right to undo surgery. Let Burns alone."
Hawkeye made a pouty face and pointed at Burns.
"Well, he shot Charles."
"No I didn't!" Frank countered shrilly. "That… Korean shot him!"
"Lemme get this straight; are you actually trying to blame someone else for your failed suicide attempt?" Pierce rebuked.
B.J. was beginning to feel more than a little torn. This was the ever-maligned Frank Burns, but he was extremely fragile at a time like this and if Hawkeye continued commenting, there was no telling what could happen.
"No more, Pierce," Colonel Potter announced. "Another word, and you'll be assigned to pre-op for the rest of the day."
Hawkeye sighed but said nothing else. No one paid him any heed because most of the people in the room were now staring at Frank Burns, aside from Potter, Hawkeye and B.J. This was the first time Frank's current mental state had been mentioned aloud to bystanders. Nurses froze in place, with Potter and Hunnicutt having to speak more insistently to get them to pay attention. All the while, Frank squirmed uncomfortably, his hands now being trusted with a scalpel, and his mind drifted from all the judgmental faces. It seemed like mere moments ago he was being stuffed into a straitjacket. There was so much yelling and panic in those moments….
"Get help!" Hawkeye screamed at B.J. "We need nurses, Colonel Potter… and a damn straitjacket." As B.J. sprinted out of the post-op ward, Hawkeye turned to Charles, who was now slowly sinking onto a bed, still clutching his chest. "You're gonna be alright, Charles. I promise."
"You can't even operate on me, you classic klutz," he murmured between ever shallower breaths, miraculously able to speak, though haltingly. "I should have heeded your and Hunnicutt's warning about Colonel Burns."
"This was not the plan!" Frank cried, his eyes wide with terror, as he sprang to his feet.
"No thanks to you," Charles groaned, "not only am I bleeding to death… but you've incapacitated the chief surgeon."
Frank huffed.
"Well, if that damn Commie had done his job—"
Suddenly, Hawkeye turned towards Frank and sucker-punched him in the face with his casted hand. Frank's world went black as he fell on top of the wounded North Korean soldier who had refused to shoot him.
"We have a pulse, Doctor!" Margaret exclaimed. She was ecstatic at the sound of the familiar thump-thump.
"Thank the Lord!" Potter commented.
Hawkeye could only sigh with utter relief.
"Ambu-Bag, nurse," B.J. called out to Nurse Able. "Now we need to get him breathing. Pulse, Margaret?"
"Forty beats per minute and increasing." She paused for half a minute. "Fifty-two. Is he breathing yet?"
"Not on his own," B.J. explained. "But we're able to expand his lungs. Cross your fingers."
Frank Burns had completely stopped focusing. He hadn't even heard the good news.
"Colonel Burns?" his nurse called. "Colonel Burns."
Frank blinked his eyes several times and looked over at his nurse. She was certainly very young and inexperienced.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Major Winchester's heart is beating again," she said happily. "Did you hear that?"
"Uh, no, I didn't. But that's great!" he exclaimed.
Frank's eyes darted around the room. He looked at Margaret, whose mouth was strained, her face beaded with sweat. B.J. Hunnicutt's hair was askew, his eyes intense with concentration as he sought to restore Major Winchester's breathing. Rather than Major Winchester's life flashing before his eyes in these past few minutes, Frank's last several days of life had gone before the disgraced doctor's eyes. His bout with Margaret and his former bunkmates. The gunshot that sounded round the compound.
"What am I doing here?" Frank murmured, shaking his head slowly as realization truly hit him. "I don't belong in here. I don't belong anywhere."
"I heard that, Burns," Colonel Potter huffed. "Right now you belong here. In fact, you are here. In case you haven't noticed, that patient's life is in your hands. Now get on saving it."
B.J. suddenly called out the status of his patient.
"He's breathing on his own! Blood pressure, Margaret?
"Eighty over fifty," she told B.J. "It seems to be steadily—"
"How is Major Winchester doing?" Frank interrupted.
"It's about time you asked," Pierce grumbled. "It's the least you could do, being as you put him in this state."
Margaret rolled her eyes. Must Pierce and Frank always antagonize the other?
"He's hardly stable, but he's getting there. That was very nice of you to ask, Frank."
"You really think so?" Frank questioned, a boyish innocence on his face. "When he's stable, would you let me know, dear?"
Margaret bit her tongue. Now was not the time to point out his incorrect reference to her.
"Alright, Frank," she tersely replied. "Now, get back to work."
"Good work, Doctor," the nurse murmured. Amazingly, now that Major Houlihan had addressed her surgeon, Frank Burns had gained complete focus and had methodically removed the shrapnel from his patient and had even exteriorized part of the colon that he had to resection. Although she knew nothing about the doctor except what Hawkeye had announced in the O.R., she was quite glad that this shift was uneventful.
"One more patient and that's a wrap," Klinger called in. "Anyone to move to post-op?"
"Major Charles Winchester," B.J. announced regally, laying a gloved hand on Charles's hand. It was warm and still pumping lifeblood through its veins and arteries. Charles had made it through the surgery and was now breathing on his own, albeit shallowly.
The entire operating room let out a collective sigh of relief as Klinger moved forward to fetch the gurney. No one dared say anything, lest Charles take a turn for the worse.
"Oh, that's just stupendous!" Frank's voice suddenly rang out. "Margaret?"
The blonde nurse was immediately rattled.
"Yes?"
"Would you be my nurse—you know, for my last hurrah?" he asked her. "This is it for me, you know." Frank's nurse stood by him feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second.
"Would you please stop with all the finality talk? Tomorrow is another day, Frank," B.J. commented.
"I'm done with the real finality stuff—we all know damn well that this is my last patient," Frank replied.
Hawkeye Pierce shut his mouth before he could let out his jokey reply, a move that took all the willpower he could muster. Margaret looked towards Colonel Potter. Now was the time to keep Frank under control until they could figure out what to do with him. Meanwhile, the final patient of the group was wheeled in front of B.J. Colonel Potter gave Margaret a slight nod.
"Sure, Frank," Margaret replied, her smile widening. "Nurse, I'll be taking over your position. You'll be prepping Dr. Hunnicutt."
As soon as the blonde head nurse arrived at Frank Burns' operating table, wearing fresh gloves, Frank began to talk.
"It's like old times again, isn't it?" he said with a silly smile. "You, me, an injured man…. Life and death in the balance, fate decided upon by the sheer dexterity of these hands." He held his bloodied and gloved hands up in front of his face, looking at them as if it were the first time he'd ever done so.
Burns's comment was wildly egotistical, but Margaret avoided the conflict that would arise if she addressed it. Thankfully Pierce and Hunnicutt also kept their mouths shut. Margaret sought to be direct with the surgeon. She looked at him, still as disheveled and mentally exhausted as she was during Major Winchester's surgery. "What do you need me to do?"
"Marry me," he replied abruptly, touching her gloved hand with his own. "I know I don't have much of a career left now, but you were my intention for coming here."
"Should've called first," Pierce joked. "She could've refused you just as easily over the phone."
Frank largely ignored the dark-haired surgeon with the casted hand. Instead he stared expectantly at Margaret, waiting for her response as if it could be anything but a no.
"I meant if you needed me to give you some sutures, Frank," Margaret replied, leery of setting him off. He did in fact have a sharp object in his hand that he could use for any purpose he saw fit. Frank's future was bleak in any case. "You need to close the patient."
"I know that," he snapped. "Hmmph. Once this patient is closed, my surgeon's book is too. I'm no dummy—I know what's coming."
Margaret stared at the man who had once been her lover. Was Frank Burns going to finally accept responsibility for his actions? This was a man who without guilt cheated on his wife, ignored his children, and refused to treat anyone who wasn't an American soldier. There was a clarity in his eyes that seemed to suggest that the gravity of the situation was perhaps understood.
"I'm sure that whatever bad things you think are coming will be lessened if you close up this patient and finish your job with the dignity I know you have in you," she replied.
"Sorry, Margaret, but that was removed from him in his early youth along with his wisdom teeth," Pierce jeered. There was no laughter in the O.R.
"That's enough, Pierce," Margaret retorted tiredly. "Sometimes you just go too damn far…"
"My fist maybe, but not me," he replied with a grin, making reference to the bandaged hand that was one for two in punching Frank Burns. No one in the room laughed along with him, not even B.J. He immediately felt a wave of shame. Perhaps he had gone too far—his hand was bandaged, Charles was in recovery from a point blank gunshot, and Frank was busy working on his final patient. "Okay—in all seriousness, I'm sorry, Frank," Hawkeye said. "No more jokes."
Frank froze for a moment in mid-stitch and looked up with pure astonishment.
"For good?"
"Depends—how long are you gonna be here?" Pierce replied. Frank looked crestfallen, and Pierce immediately corrected himself, shaking his head resolutely. "I mean it; I'm done joking for good. I'm going to leave you alone from now on."
"Do you really mean it, Pierce?" Frank asked, unable to do much else but stare blatantly at the man.
"I do."
Frank turned to Margaret, his face full of disappointment.
"Now, why won't you say that to me… in front of a priest?" Frank asked the nurse.
Her response bordered on immense irritation, her teeth closed as she spoke. She let out an exasperated sigh.
"If you don't close your patient, Frank, I will. Can we talk about this later?"
Frank stood at the side of the table, his gloved hands resting on the edge of the gurney. Thankfully he had since put away his surgical instruments.
"All done," Frank announced, grimacing. "My last patient." His eyes moved to B.J.'s table, where B.J. was now closing his patient. The room was almost emptied of patients now, all of whom were recovering in the post-op ward. The most important patient in that ward was Major Winchester, the fate of whom held Frank's life in the balance.
"Good job, Son," Colonel Potter commented from across the room. "I knew you had it in you. You knew deep down that sticking with it was the right thing to do."
"Of course it was, Colonel," Frank replied with a lipless smile. He almost felt faint, but maintained a strong front. "I'm glad I was given this chance to redeem myself."
"Uh, well, it'll certainly help your case," Colonel Potter commented. Surgery was Frank's duty—hardly a redeeming factor in and of itself. Potter said no more, lest he rile up the unstable man.
Klinger stepped forward to wheel Frank's patient away while Margaret removed Frank's gloves. Frank's smile faded to a grimace of acceptance. It was a surprisingly somber moment. Even Hawkeye Pierce had the courtesy to avoid speaking in this moment of permanence. Frank Burns was forever finished in the field of medicine.
A/N: I have the chapters written and would love some reviews before I post the next one(s)!