CHAPTER 21 – THE PERFORMANCE OF A LIFETIME
"Well, if it isn't Daddy Warbucks," Hunnicutt remarked with a smile, upon seeing Winchester skulk into the Swamp. "So are you actually going to bunk here with the likes of us plebeians?"
"Ha," Charles scoffed, a smile playing on his lips. He glanced around the interior of the Swamp, noticing the absence of Hunnicutt's partner in crime. "In regard to your incorrect pronoun usage, where is Pierce, anyway?"
"The bigger question is why the sudden overdose of hospitality, Charles? The whole M.A.S.H. unit has you to thank for their hangovers tomorrow."
Charles demurred from making any hasty comments. How was it that Hunnicutt knew about his anonymous sponsorship of the film showing? It was then that it struck him: getting Corporal Klinger involved in any covert operation was always an abject failure. He should have known what was going to happen.
"Klinger's mouth is truly as big as his nose," Winchester said with a scoff, shaking his head. "A man with more hair than wit."
"We forced the answer out of him," Hunnicutt admitted. "Can you really blame us for wanting to know who provided us with free alcohol and entertainment? And don't flatter yourself, Charles; you don't need very much wit to outnumber your hair."
"Very funny. Don't forget my providing you ungrateful cretins with popcorn," Charles added, cocking an eyebrow as he ignored Hunnicutt's last statement. "And what of Pierce? Did he not watch the film?"
"Most of it—that is, before his stomach turned on him. So, what's with you, Charles? Care to explain why you treated the whole compound? Do I hear wedding bells in the air?"
"If there were, Hunnicutt, you can be assured that the greater part of my funds would be employed to ensure my fiancée's comfort and happiness, most certainly not to benefit a horde of slovenly pigs such as yourselves."
"As much as that had to cost, I can believe that wasn't the greater part of your funds."
"And you'd be correct in that assumption. Never mind my funds, Hunnicutt; why aren't you out cold?"
"Oh, just give me a couple of minutes. I hope we don't get any incoming wounded before noon because I have a feeling I'm not going to be too peppy in the morning."
"Drinking ample water will aid you in your road to recovery," Winchester replied, eyeing the mattress as if it were his sworn enemy. He glanced over at Hunnicutt, giving him a wink. "Trust me on this one; I'm a doctor."
"So not only did you liquor us up for free but now you're giving out free advice? And that's after the fact that for most of the day at least, the O.R. was ego-free. Charles, I'm stunned."
"You needn't be stunned, Hunnicutt," Charles remarked with a big smile, standing on his side of the room with his hands in his pockets. "It was all for a greater good. Besides, if we are to receive any casualties tomorrow, you need to be useful."
Hunnicutt looked up, greatly intrigued.
"What's the greater good?"
Charles briefly shut his eyes as he chuckled to himself.
"Ha, as if I would tell you."
A silence passed between them as B.J. glanced suspiciously at Charles's odd behavior. By this point, Charles would have either begun readying himself for bed or lounged on the chair by his phonograph. He hadn't done either.
"Aren't you going to sit down, Charles?" Hunnicutt asked, gesturing at the bed.
"Ah, not quite," Charles replied, a flicker of fear in his eyes as he pictured the expression on his face when his backside made contact with the unyielding piece of furniture.
"Why not?"
"I have to use the latrine first," he muttered. "No use getting comfortable yet."
Another moment of thick silence. Charles did not so much as take one step towards the door.
"Then why aren't you going?" Hunnicutt remarked, looking up at him. "You'll probably have to wait in one hell of a line, so you might as well get a head start and go now."
"Ah, right—the drunkards," Charles murmured, rolling his eyes. He took a hesitant step towards the door. "Speaking of which, do you think Pierce is using the facilities?"
"Eh, I doubt he made it that far. He was seeing multiple copies of people at last I saw him." The mustached doctor stared into space for a moment, realizing something. "Hey, what's with the sudden interest in Hawkeye's whereabouts, anyway? That's like the twelfth time you've asked about him in five minutes."
Charles squinted with distaste.
"That's funny, because I only count three. Pierce is seeing multiple and you're hearing multiple. Ha," he said, chortling at his own wit. "That gives me an idea: you and Pierce should be each other's audience. It'll be the only time you'll receive four bouts of laughter at one of your quips."
"Splendid idea, Charles, but I don't know where he went after he left the mess tent." It was then that he recalled Hawkeye covering his mouth as he staggered out of the makeshift building. "I'll bet he was making quite the mess outside the tent, though."
Winchester was slowly becoming alarmed. Had Hawkeye been spying on Margaret and him? Could Hawkeye be over there now? Winchester gave Hunnicutt a hard stare.
"Aren't you concerned about your friend? He could be lying in a snowdrift right now, too far gone to realize that he's freezing to death."
"Ah, that gives me an idea, Charles."
Winchester narrowed his eyes at the mustached surgeon, who hadn't made an effort to stand up. He replied cautiously, his voice a monotone.
"Does it now."
"While you're on your way to the latrines, keep an eye out for him. Who knows; maybe he actually made it over to Margaret's."
Suddenly Hunnicutt fell silent, his eyes wide. Though he wasn't as fall-down drunk as Hawkeye, the alcohol had lowered the blond surgeon's threshold for keeping secrets.
"And why would he be doing that?" Winchester exclaimed, his face feeling hot.
"What, are you Margaret's keeper or something? She can talk to whoever she wants."
"Ah, yes, a vomiting Pierce—the quintessential conversationalist," Winchester retorted with a little sneer.
B.J. rolled his eyes.
"Aren't you going to go to the latrines? Now you're starting to make me worry about him. I'm bound to end up facedown in the snow if I have to walk across the compound. I'm not much better off than he is; it'd be like the blind leading the blind."
Charles took a step towards the door, recalling an important piece of information that he wanted from the mustached surgeon.
"Perhaps I'd have more luck finding him if I knew why he wanted to talk to Major Houlihan."
"I doubt it," Hunnicutt replied. "Just listen for the sounds of a man groaning in agony. You shouldn't have any trouble finding him."
"Hunnicutt, I gave you an ego-free morning, free alcohol, and free advice. Can you not divulge that harmless tidbit of information for my sake?"
"Why does it matter, anyway? You do realize you're going to be killed tomorrow after everyone recovers from what you did tonight."
"I can lead a heathen to hooch, but I cannot make him drink," Charles stated adamantly, forcefully pointing at Hunnicutt. "I am not going to be held responsible for three dozen cases of alcohol poisoning in people who have what I assume to be at least a rudimentary knowledge of medicine."
"If you don't leave the Swamp now, Charles, it might not matter where Hawkeye is in a few hours, because he'll be frozen solid."
"Ah—the alcohol in his blood should keep it flowing well below the freezing point," Charles remarked, moving towards the door. "Even so, I will seek out our inebriated itinerant, lest he do something very stupid."
"Too late," Hunnicutt murmured, looking down and shaking his head. When he looked back up, Winchester was gone.
"Wait—what the hell are you talking about?" Hawkeye Pierce blurted at the unexpected confession from Margaret Houlihan. She and Charles were actually an item? He was shocked to the core at her admission.
"You heard me," she replied, a smile appearing on her face in response to the frown that had shown up on his.
"Are you talking about Charles Winchester?"
"The very one." Now she was gloating.
"But you told me—"
"I lied. And you can assume away about his pin being here."
Now Pierce was stammering again, his blue eyes wide with shock and hurt and all sorts of negative emotions. He'd hoped this evening could end with a promise of more to come… at some point. Instead, he was being summarily shut down. He couldn't believe his ears.
"I don't… I don't get it. Why would you—"
"I lied because I didn't want anyone to know just yet. Guess that little peck just pulled it right out of me."
Something occurred to Hawkeye, something that made him feel almost as nauseous as the whiskey, scotch, and martinis he'd been guzzling down all night. He looked her straight in the eye with narrowed eyes, his face dead serious. Her expression, however, was playful, sneaky and a tad arrogant.
"Is that why he paid for that film, Margaret? Was he here tonight?"
"Bingo," she replied, pointing at him and grinning toothily.
"Why did he pick such an obnoxiously loud film for us to…" He froze in mid-sentence, a groan escaping his lips as he realized the implications. When he glanced at Margaret, she was smiling broadly.
"Well, if it's true you needed plane engines to drown out your passion, why isn't he here now, comforting you in your time of need?" he asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Been there, did that," she replied coolly, crossing her arms.
"Then why are you still—"
"Oh, you mean I can't cry on more than one occasion for my dead father? Well, excuse me, Captain Cold," she sneered, getting to her feet. This evening with Pierce was fast drawing to a close, a failed evening as it had been with Major Winchester.
Pierce stood up as well, face-to-face with the blonde nurse.
"Well, things are just falling into place for you now, eh? You can have him meet your sister at the funeral," Pierce remarked, crossing his arms as well.
"He's not going with me to the funeral," she blurted. Hawkeye froze. Had she just said that Charles was not going to Tokyo with her? The blood slowly drained from Hawkeye's face at the admission. Why was Margaret trying so hard to confuse him? Never again would he drink so much, because it was making him stupid and incapable of following the conversation.
"What do you mean? You and loverboy should be there together," he remarked, his voice scathing. "After all, who better to comfort you than a man with both his parents alive and well in their mansion firmly rooted in Boston? That's right—you can really relate to him."
"He can't go," she lied, biting back the harsh words that would usually follow such a sarcastic quip. "He's on call."
"You could get him off duty if you wanted. I'm sure Colonel Potter would und—"
"I'm not taking our best surgeon away when there's a very real possibility that we could get more wounded tomorrow."
"Best surgeon?" Hawkeye blurted, hurt by the remark. "Have you forgotten who just so happens to be chief surgeon of the 4077th?"
"Ha! That was decided well before Charles arrived here," she flatly retorted. "And he's a far better surgeon than Frank ever was. That title probably would've been given to Major Winchester if he'd been your rival then."
"Oh, is that what you think?" he replied back, his voice strong but his expression full of insecurity. It irked him that what she had said was almost certainly true. Charles was a highly skilled surgeon, well-deserving of the title of chief surgeon.
"Yes, and I know you think so too," she spat. "You're just lucky you got to the 4077th first."
A moment of tense silence passed between Margaret and Hawkeye. She straightened out her satiny nightshirt and then crossed her arms, awaiting the next sarcastic statement from the dark-haired surgeon.
"So you're going to the funeral alone," he said, looking at her warily. "Is that what you wanna do?"
"Not really," she muttered, her gaze directed elsewhere. Once Hawkeye said something else hurtful, he would be kicked out of her tent. She glanced up at him to see his brow etched in thought as he stared down at the ground. He'd decided: he wasn't about to let this lie.
"Well, if you need someone to go with you, I could—"
"Alright," she replied automatically. "We'll be leaving early tomorrow evening. I have to talk to the colonel first and then I'll come get you. We'll be driving to Seoul and catching a plane there to Tokyo."
Hawkeye looked taken aback, clearly shocked by her immediate reply.
"Wait—did you just say I could go with you?"
"Don't get too excited," she retorted. "I'm not inviting you to a party, Captain, I'm inviting you to a funeral. All I ask is that you bring your dress uniform," she instructed. "My father deserves total respect."
Predictably, Hawkeye sighed; he hated wearing that dreaded uniform. He pulled himself up so that his head was leaning on her wall.
"Margaret, I really doubt he'd notice if I'm—"
He was met with the fiery eyes of Major Houlihan.
"I agree," he muttered, nodding fervently. "Total respect. Now, you, on the other hand, don't need to wear anything…"
She frowned at him. His cheesy smile melted away.
"…that doesn't command complete respect. You know, being the daughter of such a man."
The knock at the door made Hawkeye and Margaret jump. Who the hell could that be at this hour of the night? The blonde nurse sighed and walked to the door, completely ignorant of who to expect.
"Who is it?" she called, her door still shut.
"It's Charles," the voice replied. "May I come in?" Hawkeye hit himself in the forehead, rolling his eyes dramatically. So it was true; Winchester and Houlihan were an item. Otherwise, Margaret would never be okay with a man knocking on her door at this hour. Margaret, on the other hand, froze. She didn't want to have to prove that she was with Charles, and yet here he was, on the other side of the door. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
"What do you want?" she spat. From somewhere behind her, she heard some snarky laughter from Hawkeye. That certainly hadn't been the right way to convince Hawkeye of her supposed relationship with Major Winchester. She had to be kind and sweet to the blue-blooded man. It would certainly be a different dynamic than how she'd been treating him.
"May I come in?" Charles asked again, his voice ever so polite.
Margaret warily glanced back at Hawkeye, acutely aware that she was now sweating profusely.
"Let your boyfriend in," the dark-haired man muttered lowly. "Like the saying goes, three's company, two's a crowd."
"You've got it backward," Margaret replied in a harsh whisper.
"Do I? Well, I'll have you know that blue blood freezes faster than regular blood. Let Loverboy in before we have to thaw him out."
She turned to face the door, rolling her eyes. Damn. There was no getting around this. She had to make it convincing and yet, at last she spoke with Charles, she hadn't been too happy with him. This would be the performance of a lifetime.
Her frantic thoughts were interrupted by Charles speaking again through the door, his tone noticeably less polite. "Is Pierce there with you?"
Without saying another word, Margaret opened the door, revealing Hawkeye and her standing in the center of her tent. Winchester's jaw nearly dropped to the ground at the sight. The woman was truly insatiable, inviting two men into her room in one night. He very much wanted to punch Pierce, but at the strange unhappy way Pierce was looking at him, he figured Margaret had already done the job or something much like it.
"Ha," Charles deadpanned, standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "I should have known Pierce would stagger his way over here and—"
"Don't worry about it, darling," Margaret replied, boldly striding right up to him. He lifted his head up, utterly lost, as she approached him, stopping when she was nearly flush against his body.
"Margaret," Winchester began, glancing at the unopened bottle of Montrechet by her nightstand and then looking at her with puzzlement. "Did you have something to—"
"He was just leaving," she interrupted, glaring briefly over her shoulder at Hawkeye. Suddenly she remembered. She looked down, picking something off of the floor. "Here's your pin," she said, holding out the gold leaf to him.
Charles stared at the item with confusion for a moment, sticking his hand in his pocket and fiddling around with the single pin in his pocket. Once he realized his oak leaf pin was indeed missing, he removed his hand from his pocket and picked the item out of her hand.
"'Kyu," he said quietly as he dropped the pin in his pocket, glancing briefly over at Hawkeye to see the dark-haired doctor's flabbergasted stare. Apparently he wasn't the only one who was confused at this situation. Pierce seemed to be confounded by the idea of Margaret hitting on him; and needless to say, he was as well, especially since their parting this evening hadn't been romantic in any sense of the word.
Margaret had instructed Pierce not to say a word of their trip to the funeral to Charles unless he wanted to be left behind. She'd argued that as dire as the circumstances were surrounding their trip to Tokyo, it was, after all, a brief escape from Korea. And God help him, he needed the escape. Of course, he also wanted to watch Winchester's face turn purple at his triumphant return from the funeral with the major's girl in tow. A clandestine affair was always worse to hear about than one known about from the start. Margaret was right; he would not utter a word of it.
"I'm not certain what's going on here," Charles said with teeth gritted together, glancing down at her bemusedly and then over at Pierce. "Care to fill me in, Margaret? What were you and Crocked-eye talking about?"
Margaret fought the urge to roll her eyes. Why hadn't Charles moved out of the way so that Hawkeye could squeeze through? The blue-blooded surgeon's sizable frame took up the entirety of the doorway, preventing Pierce from escaping. Now she'd have to keep up the façade of a legitimate relationship before Charles could inadvertently divulge too much. Besides, Hawkeye wouldn't believe her to be in a half-hearted romantic relationship. She knew that she was always one to fall hard, and she couldn't play this one any different if Hawkeye was to believe her. There was also the fact that Winchester had returned to her tent for some yet unknown reason, perhaps to apologize for his laughing away her request. If this was true, he would be redeemed in her eyes. She felt overcome with a strong urge, and went along with it.
"Us," she replied smilingly. As Winchester stared at her incredulously, his mouth slightly ajar with utter confusion, she stood up on tiptoe, putting her hands on his face and drawing him in for a passionate kiss. At the touch of her lips on his, Winchester's legs nearly gave out from under him, her mouth stifling his cry of surprise as his eyes widened in protest. He immediately quelled his knee-jerk reaction to the sudden kiss and instead closed his eyes and kissed her right back. What in the world was going on here? He dared not open his eyes, lest the moment be destroyed by the view of Pierce in his peripheral vision. As Margaret deepened the kiss, her hands tenderly caressing the cheeks that she'd earlier slapped in front of Pierce and Hunnicutt, Winchester took in a breath and held it. Surely Pierce was standing right there watching all this, but if Hot Lips Houlihan was going to kiss him with such passion, he would not refuse it, spectators be damned.
As the pair continued to kiss most ardently, Hawkeye watched with narrowed eyes Major Winchester taking his hands out of his pockets and wrapping them snugly around the blonde nurse, his large hands further pulling her body against his. He felt ill at having to watch such a scene. Majors Ego and Hot Lips, fooling around? He'd sooner believe that the Korean War had been fabricated. Yet there Margaret was, before his very eyes, voluntarily kissing the arrogant surgeon and him responding in kind.
"Get a room, you two," Hawkeye finally remarked, his patience worn thin. He noticed that Winchester hadn't ruined his kiss with Margaret as he had only a half hour or so earlier. In fact, the pair was still going at it quite enthusiastically.
"Ugh, spare me my eyes, will ya?" Hawkeye muttered, blocked from leaving the room by the kissing couple's collective bodies. "If I was gonna pay to watch such a show, rest assured you'd not be in it, Winchester. First off, you take up too much of the screen."
It was then, as Pierce watched Winchester's hands clutching at the clingy fabric at Margaret's back, his fingers moving hungrily over her satin-covered skin, that he nearly became physically ill. Imagining anyone kissing Charles Emerson Winchester III was nauseating in and of itself, let alone when the kissing partner was his old fling Margaret Houlihan.
"If this is my punishment for drinking too much, I promise to be a teetotaler from now on," Pierce remarked, shifting back and forth uncomfortably. "So do you want me to throw up on your bed or what, Margaret? Moan once for yes."
This remark of Pierce's was enough to get her to break the kiss with Major Winchester. She slowly pulled away from the kiss, turning to face the dark-haired doctor, her cheeks rosy and lips swollen as she glared at him. To Hawkeye she was breathtakingly beautiful but he hid his awe, replacing it with the disgust he felt at having just watched that act.
Winchester could only stand frozen in place, arms hanging loosely at his sides, his face feeling hot and lips in very much the same condition as Margaret's. After she'd pulled away from the kiss, he merely stood silently where he was, staring dumbly at the back of her head as she confronted Pierce.
"You can go now," she said to Pierce, taking a step to the side. Thankfully Winchester copied this movement, clearing a path to the outside.
"You don't have to ask me twice," Hawkeye remarked with disgust, his eyes locked on Margaret as he slowly stalked past the silent pair onto the snowy compound. Once outside, he turned to them, shoving his hands in his jacket. "You kids have fun. Remember, Margaret, he needs to be changed at 1 am and 4 am. Don't forget or you'll be smelling it later."
"Ha ha," Winchester called after him, a disdainful grin on his face. "Couldn't smell any worse than you, Puke-eye."
If Pierce could emit steam from his ears, now would have been the time he'd have done so. Oh, he'd make sure Charles never lived this little incident down—no, Charles couldn't claim to be a gentleman anymore. Even he, Hawkeye Pierce, used a little discretion—a coat hanger on the supply room door ensuring there'd be a nice solid wall between him and any spectators before he'd even begin his dates.
Winchester turned around to face the entrance to Margaret's tent, watching Hawkeye stomp off into the snow in the direction of the Swamp. A triumphant little smile appeared on his lips at the sight of the dark-haired doctor retreating dejectedly.
As Hawkeye Pierce retreated into the night, Margaret could only stare at the back of Charles Winchester, not because he was in her line of sight but because he had intrigued her yet again. So Major Winchester was more than willing to do something normally dishonorable for him if initially led into it. Once she'd initiated the kiss, he would never have ended it, save to breathe. However, if she had asked him to initiate a kiss in front of Pierce, it was guaranteed that he'd refuse to do so. This highborn man in front of her had at least partially redeemed his earlier laughing-off of her request. For a moment she felt guilty that she'd agreed to attend the funeral in Tokyo with Hawkeye, but in doing so, she'd be effectively screwing with Winchester's sense of entitlement and perhaps he'd feel the need to confront her about it. She was in effect pitting Hawkeye and Charles against each other, but really, that was no different than usual.