Starkeeper: Again, many thanks to my first reviewer!!  Constructive criticism rules the world!

Djinn: Except when it doesn't. 

Starkeeper: Through gritted teeth Shut up.  Anyway, made a few changes to Chapter 2; I'll probably be making more changes to all chapters at a later point in time. 

Also, I'm considering changing the Rating to PG-13 . . . I'm not entirely sure if this is R-rated or not.  Please review and let me know what you think . . .

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            Katie woke up after what had seemed to be a short nap to find a tall, dark-haired man with an extremely large nose changing the bed-pan of the bed on her right.  He was wearing a knee-length dark blue skirt with white polka-dots, a white silk blouse, and a white hat with a few flowers stuck in the brim.  A very large diamond earring dangled from each ear.  Katie grinned; there was only one person in the 4077 M*A*S*H who wore dresses, earrings, and high-heels.  "Hello, Corporal Klinger."

            Klinger turned around and stared at her for a moment.  "Have I met you before?"

            Katie shook her head, wincing at the headache it gave her.  "Not here, Klinger.  I know you, but I don't think you've ever met me."

            Klinger flashed a grin.  "Why thank you, Ma'am!  You'll have seen me on the fashion page of the army magazine.  No doubt you'd like my autograph?"

            Katie shook her head again.  Stars exploded in front of her eyes.  "N-no, K-klinger, I-I'm s-s-satisfied with m-making your acquaintance." 

            "Whoa, kid, are you okay?  You don't look too good.  And you don't sound all that well, either."

            "I-I'm f-f-fine, K-klinger."

            "Hell you are."  Klinger looked around for one of the doctors in the Post-Op.  "Hey, Major – help me out over here, will you?"

            Frank and Margaret both turned to look at Klinger at the same time.  "Major Houlihan," Klinger quickly clarified. 

            "And just what is the meaning of this?"  Frank snapped.  "A mere nurse is going to take care of a patient while there's a doctor in here?"

            "A mere nurse?!  Frank!  That's insulting!" The nurse in question, a blond-haired woman Katie recognized as Major Margaret Houlihan, did not look very pleased with Frank's comment. 

            "I mean, uh . . ." Frank was at a loss for words.  However, BJ, materializing seemingly from out of nowhere (Katie couldn't see the door), was not at such a loss.  "Well, there's a doctor in here, now, Frank.  You can get back to what you were doing—nothing."

            "Why I oughta . . ." Frank muttered as he stormed out of the Post-Op. 

            BJ sat down on Katie's bunk and felt her pulse, then checked the chart.  "You're alright kiddo.  All you need is rest, relaxation, and a higher dose of pain-killers.  Unfortunately, I can't give you the third one; that would be dangerous for someone of your weight.  But the first two are all yours."

            Katie tried to nod, but it hurt too much.  "T-thanks, B-BJ," she stammered. 

            BJ nodded.  "No problem.  I've got a question for you, before you travel to dream-land."

            "Sh-shoot."

            "How do you know my name, and Hawkeye's and Klinger's?  I know for a fact that you haven't met either of them before, although you might have heard of Klinger.  Even among the crazies, he's a rare one." 

            Katie's smile returned.  "B-but f-for all th-that h-he c-can't get a s-s-section eight."

            BJ stared at her for a moment, as if trying to figure out the answer to a very difficult question.  Then he sighed and rose to his feet.  "Don't worry, kiddo, you'll be fine.  You'll be just fine."  Then he left the Post-Op. 

            Katie closed her eyes, trying to get back to sleep, away from the pain and the worry.  On top of what had happened last night, she had just had surgery.  I'd better not make this a habit.  She was very tired.  So very tired . . .

            "What did she say?"  Hawkeye and Klinger chorused as BJ came out of Post-Op.  Hawkeye glared at Klinger.  "We don't need another Radar, Klinger."  Hawkeye and Klinger walked on either side of BJ as they headed back to the swamp.  "Well?" Hawk asked after a moment, "What did you find out?"

            BJ sighed.  "Nothing, except that somehow she knows our names, despite the fact that none of us have seen her before.  And she also knows what a Section Eight is," he added, "even though she's only thirteen years old.  She mentioned it while we had a brief discussion on Klinger."

            "Hey!  I resent gossip!  Haven't you heard that it's rude to talk about someone behind their back?"

            "If you don't like it, you only have to turn 180 degrees," Hawkeye replied.  "Well, you've got my support, BJ.  I'll get the kid a bed with the nurses.  They'll love to have her.  And it'll give me an excuse for visiting them."

            BJ shook his head, smiling slightly.  That was not the reaction Pierce expected. 

            "What's wrong with you, BJ?  I've never seen you so . . . so . . . driven, maybe that's the word.  It's like someone harnessed you to a sled and started cracking the whip."

            "I'd rather not talk about it," BJ replied as Klinger split to finish up some job or another.  His face was a study in opaque. 

            "Oh, come on, BJ!  You never do anything without a reason—even your practical jokes have some sort of reason behind them."

            "Curiosity killed the cat." If Hawkeye had been less focused on finding out the answer to his question, he might have noticed that BJ's tone was no longer easygoing or remotely friendly.  

            "But satisfaction brought it back.  Come on, Beej—"  

"Look, I don't want to talk about it!"  They had reached the Swamp now; BJ stormed inside and slammed the door behind him. 

            "Whoa, horsie," Hawkeye commented as he entered the Swamp, raising his hands in defeat.  "Aren't you the one who always said that if you've got verbal poison inside, so to speak, you should talk until it runs out?" 

            BJ stood up from his sprawling position on his bed and walked over to Hawkeye until he was less than a foot away, and staring him right in the eye.  Hawkeye backed up a little; this wasn't a BJ he had ever seen before, and it made him very uneasy. 

            "Leave me alone," BJ said slowly.  "Just leave – me – alone.  Got that?"

            Hawkeye's mouth was suddenly very dry.  "Got it, Beej." 

            BJ nodded.  "Good."  Then he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.  Hawkeye stared after him.  What is wrong with him? Hawkeye walked slowly over to the door and peered outside; through the dimming light he could just barely see BJ disappear around the corner of the Post-Op building.  Steeling himself against an inevitable reaction, Hawkeye followed. 

            As BJ stalked out of the Swamp, he was already beginning to regret his actions.  Not enough to go back, though.  Not yet.  Instead he headed over to the Post-Op.  No one was there except Klinger, changing the bedpans.  The sky outside was growing dark fairly quickly, and all of the patients were asleep. 

            "How may I be of service?"  Klinger asked as he finished loading the 'used' bedpans onto the cart.  BJ shook his head; right now all he wanted was some time alone, some time to think.  "Very well, sir.  Pleasant watch!" 

            BJ stopped halfway across the room, surprised for a moment.  I'm not on watch . . . Oh, right.  It was Frank's watch right now, which he was probably shirking to spend some time chasing Margaret.  That was good; it meant that BJ would be uninterrupted for a while, unless Hawk came looking for him.  Damn him . . . Couldn't Hawkeye tell when someone wanted to be left alone?  No, he's just trying to do his best as a friend.  BJ took a seat on the end of the bunk belonging to the thirteen year old – he didn't know her name, and neither did the charts.  Hawkeye just doesn't understand.   

            The girl stirred and whimpered, no doubt in the middle of some unpleasant dream.  BJ sighed and ran his hand through his sandy hair.  "It's alright, kiddo.  You're going to be just fine.  Everything's going to turn out okay.  You'll see; me'n Hawkeye will take care of you."  As he said the words of reassurance, BJ wondered who they were meant for – the kid, or himself. 

            "Hawkeye can't understand," he said, so softly that a listener would have had to strain enormously to hear the words.  "He can never understand what it's like for us, kiddo.  He doesn't know what it's like to have someone you love and trust cause you such pain and take pleasure from it.  He can't know what it's like to have your love and trust shredded bit by bit, until you are no longer capable of either.  He will never understand the shame that comes of believing in your heart that the abuse is your own fault, even while in your mind you know that it's not.  Hawkeye doesn't know what fear is.  He thinks he knows, but he will never know.  He cannot ever know."  BJ bent over slightly, his body wracked with silent sobs. 

            Hawkeye stopped at the entrance of the Post-Op room to allow Klinger to exit with his cargo of bedpans.  "Is BJ in there?"

            Klinger nodded.  "Yes, sir, Captain sir!"

            Hawkeye raised an eyebrow.  Not only was Klinger acting in an over-enthusiastic manner when it came to carting bedpans, but he had also changed into a regular uniform.  Not even a scarf or earrings did the corporal wear.  "Changed your mind about being crazy, Klinger?"

            The Lebanese shook his head and grinned.  "No, sir!  I figure that if I start acting like a normal GI, they'll think I've really gone crazy!"

            Hawkeye nodded absently.  "Best of luck, Klinger.  If you'll excuse me . . ."

            Klinger saluted and headed off to clean the bedpans.  Hawkeye took the few remaining steps to the door of the Post-Op.  He placed his hand on the door and was about to push it open when he heard a low voice.  Whether it was because he was reluctant to have another show-down with BJ, or if it was just because he wanted to work on his eavesdropping skills (most likely the first, though Hawkeye wouldn't admit it to himself), Hawkeye stopped and removed his hand from the door.  Slowly he moved so that he could just barely see in through the door's small window; hopefully if someone in the room glanced up, they wouldn't notice. 

            BJ sat on the bed of the kid they had been discussing earlier, running a hand through his hair like he did when stressed or nervous.  Hawkeye could hear him say, "It's alright, kiddo.  You're going to be just fine.  Everything's going to turn out okay.  You'll see; me'n Hawkeye will take care of you."  Hawk couldn't help but grin; that was typical of BJ – he always seemed to find the right words to calm someone down, or the right way to offer support.  BJ lowered his voice, and Hawkeye had to lean forward slightly in order to hear him.  After a few moments he wished that he hadn't.  Hawkeye practically threw himself away from the door and headed back to the Swamp at what his father called a 'Power Walk' – not quite a run or jog. 

            He threw open the door of the Swamp, ignoring the incredible noise it made as it slammed shut behind him, ignoring Frank's long-suffering, reproachful look from his cot across the room.  Hawkeye sat down on the edge of his bed, gripping the rim so hard that his knuckles began to turn white.  What he had heard over by the Post-Op . . . No wonder BJ's so determined to see that the kid gets a better life.  No small wonder that he caught the signs of abuse long before I even guessed that they might be there.  Frank continued to glare at him from across the room, but Hawkeye couldn't think of a single wisecrack to throw at him, nor did he care. 

            "Cat got your wing, Hawkeye?"  Frank began his odd, whining chortle that served him for a laugh.  Hawkeye continued to stare into space.  After a while Frank stopped.  "Hmph.  Some people just can't appreciate a good joke," he grumbled, returning to his Reader's Digest.