This will be following the show! Rose comes in about season three, right before the episode Alcoholics Unanimous. I may gloss over some filler episodes, as I want to be able to finish this fic in a good amount of time, but there will be some fan favorites thrown in there as they are also my favorites. If any of these characters are out of character, I am so sorry! This is the first M*A*S*H fic that I have written, and I'm hoping to do the show and the iconic characters justice.
Chapter One
When my brother found out that I was one of the new nurses sent to the th M*A*S*H unit, I thought that I was literally going to see him implode. Or explode. Or, you know, something along those lines. I wasn't here twenty minutes before he saw me making my way out of the nurse's tent as he was making his way to the mess tent.
Being the protective older brother that he was, he pretty much grabbed me by my wrist and forced me to a safe distance from prying eyes and listening ears to scold my ear off. It just so happened to be near the latrines. A fantastically disgusting smell was wafting from one direction, and I watched as my brother made sure we were downwind of it. Regardless, I still wrinkled my nose for a brief moment.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Have you lost your mind?" My older brother snapped at me, his tone more like our father's when we did something wrong when we were children.
"No." I crossed my arms, my tone defiant.
"I think you have."
"Well, I haven't." I glared at him, my eyes narrowing. "I did my part to get here. I went through my nursing school and everything else, and I have earned my Lieutenant title. I'm here to stay, whether you like it or not."
I watched as Hawkeye Pierce, my older brother who had five years on me in life, took in a deep breath, and then almost instantly regretted it after. Whatever was went on in those latrines made the smell terrible, and Hawkeye gently took me by the elbow, walking us a few feet away from there until we could no longer smell it. "Rose, I'm serious. This place isn't a cakewalk. I want you to at least go to Henry Blake and tell him you want to be transferred out of Korea and back to the states, it'll be safer for you—"
"No." I shook my head stubbornly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I'm here because this is where I was sent, and this is where I'll stay. I'm a nurse, and I'm going to continue to be one here. At this unit. Regardless of what you say."
Hawkeye huffed a bit, his hands on his hips as he glared at me. "Rose—"
"Please don't argue with me. I'm staying here whether you like it or not."
I saw the slight realization in Hawk's eyes, showing he had in fact lost the argument. "Alright, fine." He rolled his eyes. "But if shit hits the fan, you be the first to go to cover."
"Yes sir." I crossed my arms loosely across my chest. We stood there in silence for a moment, simply just looking at each other. Hawkeye finally shook his head.
"It's good to see you, Rosie."
I smiled, finally, letting my arms drop to my sides. "It's good to see you too, Benny."
A slight grimace crossed my brother's features before Hawkeye scooped me up in a hug. "Don't call me that."
Hawkeye had always been very protective of me ever since I was five and fell off some rocks, which resulted in a broken leg. Where we grew up, a town called Crabapple Cove in Maine, the beaches were always so wonderful and so undeniably beautiful. Some, like a lot of beaches anywhere else, had some rocky shores. It just so happened that one day I tripped and fell trying to follow my older brother to the water. Even when he was young, Hawkeye had a rambunctious and somewhat rebellious air about him. This was something I admired as a young girl, and then later young woman. Of course, that day, it was something I should not have been following.
There was a spot with the rocks where my foot got caught. I ended up tripping and falling over, and I landed on my other leg in some certain way that broke the tibia and somewhat fractured the fibula. Even to this day, some seventeen years later, I still can get pains in my right leg when it gets cold or when it rains.
Later that year was when our mother died. Mom was sick with something, though she nor our father really told us what it was. As an adult, I assumed it was tuberculosis, as Mom was sent away from the home before she died. I remember hearing later as I got older through a phone call with my grandfather that Dad said Mom was sent to a place called Central Maine Sanitorium. Dad was distraught when she was gone, but also cautiously optimistic. The letters from Mom that seemed to get shorter and shorter every time we got one would make him falter a bit, but for us kids Dad kept his wall up. He never once showed any signs of weakness.
One week, there was a letter addressed to the three of us individually. One for Dad, one for Hawkeye and one for me. The biggest thing I remember—yes I remember all of it, of course, as it was something I have read over and over for years whenever I wanted to be near my mother—is how much my mother told me that she loved me. She told me in the letter that she knew that both my brother and I were destined for great things in life, and to never forget how much she loved me. She told me that my brother and I, as well as our father of course, were the best things in her life and how much she wanted us to live long and happy lives. That we deserved all the best things and that she would always be with us no matter what.
I think Mom knew she was dying, though. Soon after she sent her last letters, we heard the news she had died. Dad kept the strong man act up in front of me and my brother, but Hawkeye was inconsolable. The most any of us could do was be with him while he sobbed after he heard the news for the first time. I was crying too, of course, but my brother always was more emotional out of the two of us.
The first year was a large period of adjustment for the three of us, and it was a hard time for us for very different reasons. Hawkeye started to act out, and I secluded myself a bit more as school started. I remembered seeing the kids being dropped off by their mothers and fathers on the very first day, and all I had was my father. It was horrible.
Things got better as Hawkeye and I got older, but my brother never stopped being the protective older brother in anything I did. Marching band? I was told to make sure I drank plenty of fluids and to not lock my knees so I wouldn't pass out. Track? Make sure to stretch before running, and again plenty of fluids. Any boy I would bring home that just so happened to coincide to Hawkeye being home from college or medical school? He would make sure they didn't do anything that they shouldn't be doing. It was irritating, to be sure, but I wished to see it again after so long. Hawkeye, regardless of our differences on different subjects—like me saying I could take care of myself and him arguing that I had to be careful regardless for example—was something I missed but immediately did not when I saw him at the th after years of not seeing him regularly as I myself was off at college and then nursing school while he was making himself known to the surgical world as the younger Dr. Pierce. For a long time, the only time Hawk and I ever saw one another was during Thanksgiving and Christmas that we spent with Dad.
I don't think the military realized this oversight of stationing my brother and I together at the same M*A*S*H unit, but I wasn't about to go and tell them. There was someone there, though, who looked to be a stickler for regulations and if he found out that Hawkeye and I were actually related, it was game over so to speak.
It was easy to hide our relation. If you knew us, yes we certainly were siblings and it could be seen extremely easily. However, if you didn't it was also easy for us to hide aside from the same last name. Hawkeye had black hair, I had bright blonde hair. We had the same eye shape and color, same smile and face shape, but he favored our father while I favored our mother.
My first meeting with this rule stickler person and the little lady that followed him around was not entirely pleasant, especially after I realized that this little lady was also my head nurse.
So, in turn, my boss.
The man had squinty blue eyes and brown hair that was cut short to Army regulations. He constantly looked as if he had some foul taste in his mouth—perhaps it was too much of the food from the mess tent, I wasn't entirely sure—and Hawkeye "lovingly" referred to this man as "Ferret Face". I learned later that he, and another man that was one of my brother's best friends that was nicknamed Trapper, were all bunkmates in what was known to the camp as the Swamp.
Ferret Face, or if you would like me to call him by his legal name Major Frank Burns, was one person that not many people could like. He immediately noticed that Hawkeye and I knew one another, and when he learned my last name was Pierce—something I assumed he learned from Blondie, as she was the one who did the nurse roll call earlier after I had arrived—he immediately began to connect the dots. Burns wasn't what I would consider intelligent—he wasn't stupid because after all he did complete medical school, but he still was not smart when it came to some things.
"Pierce?" he spat out. I nodded, holding my coffee in one hand.
"That's my name." I clarified.
"Don't get your skivvies in a twist, Frank. We aren't related." My brother quickly deadpanned.
"You have the same last name." Frank argued.
"Ironic, isn't it?" I had to bite the side of my cheek to keep the smile from spreading across my face.
"We've been friends since we were kids, Frank. If there is any relation, neither one of us know about it." Hawkeye began to eat his lunch. Frank sputtered a bit before getting his sentence out.
"I'll tell Col. Blake about this. I know you're lying to me, Pierce."
"Tell Blake all you want, Frank, there's nothing he could do anyway. All the other units are full." Trapper spoke up. Trapper, who my brother would consider one of his best friends, had curly hair that was colored a sandy, reddish blonde with hazel eyes that—at least whenever Frank showed up—looked as if he was already emotionally done with the situation. Majority of the time, Trapper's eyes would flash and dance with amusement.
It was funny, in a way, considering that no one in the camp except for Blondie could actually stand this guy. And I had no idea what she saw in him whatsoever. He just seemed bitter and hated everything that wasn't Army, or what he saw as Army. As I look back on writing this, however, it is easier to see Frank Burns through the scope of someone just wanting to be loved. It didn't excuse the numerous things he ever did, especially later on in the war, but it was the kind of vibes I got from the man. He had his own demons, and the way he dealt with them was simply just burying himself in the Army and it's regulations. Bit annoying, really. Should've opted for therapy instead in my opinion. It was loads healthier.
"Oh, we will make sure that Colonel Blake hears about this." Blondie piped up as she and Frank stormed off.
"They're so convinced we're related," I shook my head, sipping my coffee again.
"You know what they say about assuming," Hawkeye added, and I snorted into my coffee cup as Trapper simply smiled his crooked smile. It really was a funny situation to Hawkeye and me, and the fact that we could easily pull off that we weren't related when we actually were made me chuckle.
After scolding me like he always seemed to, Hawkeye had introduced me to his bunkmate, Trapper, and explained the situation and I added the fact that I didn't wish to leave so the three of us decided to keep it between the three of us and whoever seemed trustworthy enough to not tell Frank and his little blonde girlfriend—whose name seemed to not be caught by my ear if it was said previously.
"Hey, Trapper?" I set my coffee cup down. "What's your real name?"
"Asshat." My brother muttered and I started giggling. Trapper had a playful smile on his face as he narrowed his eyes at the raven haired man next to me.
"Least mine isn't Dickhead." He quipped back.
"That's Dr. Dickhead to you. I didn't go to medical school for nothing, you know."
I started laughing again, pushing my coffee cup a bit away from me. It tasted like three day old coffee, but it was coffee. It just wasn't something I really had been feeling after taking a few sips.
"Name's John." Trapper told me. "But only my mother calls me that." He winked at me, a smirk on his face. I saw Hawkeye's gaze harden at his friend for a moment before softening again. A warning look, and nothing more. I, myself, couldn't keep myself from blushing like mad.
"How'd you get a nickname like Trapper anyway?" I asked him. Trapper cleared his throat and Hawkeye took a big drink of his coffee.
"Long story. I'll have to tell you later."
He didn't really seemed ashamed of the nickname. The fact that he went by it daily showed that. It just wasn't a story he wanted to tell in public, and that was something that I understood.
I had come to learn that, over the course of a few days, I met more and more people at the camp that were like characters out of a film. One of the favorites I met was a man named Klinger, who walked around in women's clothing. The first time I saw him I couldn't stop laughing, as he had on a dress quite similar to one I had hanging up in my own closet back in Maine. The heels and the gloves really sealed the deal for me, though. Immediately we hit it off and started to become friends, the conversation starting off with how much I loved his attire. His black hair, brown eyes and dark complexion really made the light blue of his dress pop. Klinger, of course, told me I had quite an eye for fashion and I promised to let him borrow some of my dresses had he ever had a need to if we were the same size—which, after a few more minutes of talking, we learned that we were. Hawkeye told me that Klinger was doing his best to get a Section 8, though nothing had ever really come of it as of yet. He had tried and tried, but nothing. Col. Blake was not letting him go that easily.
Meeting Lt. Col. Henry Blake was something I kind of worked myself up over nothing. He officially addressed us new nurses when we had arrived before handing us over to Blondie for her to deal with, but I hadn't met up with him one-on-one in a less formal sense. He, Hawkeye and Trapper seemed to get along just fine, and I confided in the man—who wore this ridiculous fishing hat, which covered his sandy brown hair, that I immediately adored to pieces—that Hawkeye and I were siblings. While it was known that siblings could be stationed together before, it is better to keep us apart in case of a shelling and the entire camp is lost. Of course, after I told him that I wished to stay at the camp Henry told my brother and I that he had heard nothing from us, or so he had said with a certain sly look on his face and a twinkle in his blue eyes. He then added on to Trapper's point from before—the other units were full, and this would have been the only one I could've been sent to anyway. I loved him instantly.
The next person I met was little Walter "Radar" O'Reilly, who literally did not look older than a day over 18, as he walked in on us talking with papers for Henry to sign. With his little hat that covered his burnt auburn hair, glasses that hid the grey color of his eyes—something you really didn't see unless he removed them—and clipboard I had the initial reaction of keeping him safe no matter the cost. The poor boy was tripping over his words the first time we spoke, and at one point Hawkeye teased at him having a teddy bear, which resulted a glare from the younger man. I reassured Radar, letting him know that I had a doll back home that I still occasionally slept with for comfort purposes. As I did so, his face was beet red. It was adorable.
After we left the tent, I then met a Father Mulcahy, who was the camp's chaplain, as Hawkeye, Trapper and I continued our tour of the camp. With sandy blonde hair and glasses that hid the blue color of his eyes unless he removed them—much like Radar— he seemed to be a character that someone could have complete faith and trust in—something important with the work he chose to pursue, but something underneath all that was a vibe that rang to me that—if he had to, at least—he would not be afraid to stand up for someone else or himself in a physical fight. It made a lot more sense to me when Hawk explained that the Father was a boxer.
I finally learned, however, during this time that Blondie's name was Margaret Houlihan. I also learned that you better leave that Major title in front of it, because she would make sure that you did if you didn't. The last thing I wanted was to be corrected by her.
To put it simply, from our first meeting and some months later, Major Houlihan scared the ever-loving shit out of me. She was an intimidating woman—beautiful but intimidating. Her hair seemed to be a shade or two lighter than mine, with blue eyes that were so intense that they alone could hold you in your place.
Later meetings I have had with Margaret Houlihan had me change my perspective of her completely. Not in the sense that she wasn't a strong woman—because she definitely is—but in the sense that she was self-centered and only cared about herself, the Army and the Army's regulations. Margaret had a hard shell many people had to learn to slowly chip away, and for me it all started not too long after I arrived here at the unit.
It was a week or so later. I had gotten used to being here, and genuinely was having a good time with some of the nurses I was befriending. Major Houlihan, of course, was at times telling us what to do and other times simply barking orders at us to get those things done and to get them done asap.
"Pierce." She called me over one day. "I would like to speak to you, please."
"Yes, Major." I left where I was, which was currently in the mess tent joking around with Klinger as we ate our lunch and walked outside with her. "Is something wrong?"
"No." she responded curtly. Her tone wasn't mean, it was just harshly direct. "I want to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me with complete honesty."
"Shoot it, Major." I shoved my hands in my pockets. I already knew what it was going to be.
"Are you or are you not related to Captain Pierce?"
I shifted my feet a bit. "Even if I am, Major, it isn't against Army regulations to be stationed with a sibling."
"I am aware. I would just like to know. Col. Blake would have the right to know the relation if there is one."
Oh, he knows. "I understand, Major." I nodded. Margaret read my face, the two blonde strands of hair that framed her own slightly blowing in the breeze—she had her hair up in a very tight bun that day. I liked the look on her. Suited her well.
"In case of emergency, it is best we know so that if something happens we can alert family." She said, her tone less harsh direct and more just direct at this point.
"Well, if we are—and I'm not clarifying it—would it matter at all? Aside from Henry knowing?"
"The Army would have to know, for one."
I nodded my head. "Major, I'm not being tacky here when I say this, but I think you already know the answer."
"I understand where you're coming from, Lieutenant. Now, on to the next order of business." Her tone went from direct to more like a boss. "I saw you in surgery with McIntyre the other day when we had that wave of casualties. You carried yourself very well in there. I was quite impressed with the way you handled things." A soft glimmer of a smile tugged at her lips. I allowed a small one to grace my own features.
"Thank you, Major. That means a lot, coming from you." I meant that, too.
The smile appeared a bit more. "You're a great addition to this unit, Pierce. Keep up the hard work."
"Thank you." I said again, and Margaret nodded her head. After this, the two of us went our separate ways and I made my way back into the mess tent. It was the first time Major Houlihan ever said anything like that to me, and it stuck with me even after we fully began a friendship with one another. The fact that I impressed her that much during my first week made me feel as if I was doing one hell of a job at the unit. Margaret seemed to be hard to impress, so the fact that I did it made me feel as if I was walking on air for the rest of the day. It also made me feel as if becoming a nurse wasn't a full waste of my time after all.
She was different when she wasn't around Frank Burns all the time. Margaret was likeable, even kind. When she was around Frank she, to put it simply, turned into quite an unlikeable character. His personality seemed to rub off on her. Slowly she began to realize it, however, and this changed after a while. Like everything with Major Houlihan, it took time.
I took another bite of my liver, something I severely hated but smothered in ketchup to make it even close to edible, as Radar's voice rung out from outside of the mess tent.
"Choppers!" he exclaimed. I looked at Klinger as I was in mid bite.
"Well, I suppose lunch can wait." I set my fork down, hurriedly getting up to throw my food away. Something you learn while off overseas at war—the war waits for no one.
Not even a hungry nurse.