Copyright and Author's Rambling
One more chapter, plus an epilogue. I promise. This will be the first fan fiction I've ever completed.
MASH 4077th
Ouijongbu, Korea
June 6, 1952
Corporal Max Klinger ducked into the supply tent, momentarily avoiding detection from Nurse Brighton. Why am I doing this again, kid? He waited a few seconds, and then continued to follow her. I gave up a poker game to follow some nurse until two in the morning. Somebody, please tell me why I give into that kid. Brighton stepped into Post-Op and approached Nurse Bigelow, the nurse on duty. Klinger waited outside, leaning against the door. After a few seconds, he entered the building via Radar's office. The two nurses were speaking too low for him to make out what they were saying. The important thing, according to Radar, was to "not let Nurse Leah Brighton out of your sight." He waited for Brighton to exit Post-Op and followed closely behind. He grimaced as his bare foot shattered a discarded test tube. If Murdock doesn't start disposing of this trash correctly, he's really gonna get it. He had left the stilettos in his tent, because they were an impediment to quick movement.
"Do you need anything, Corporal?"
He shook his head and fought the urge to kill Bigelow for nearly blowing his cover. "No, I don't," he muttered. "Thanks." He ignored the nurse's and the patients' questioning stares and rushed outside to keep up with his charge. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected somebody duck behind the garbage cans. Somebody playing hide-and-seek, he told himself. Nothing to get concerned about.
The corpsman and the nurse had never been friends; in fact, one could accurately say they barely knew each other at all. About the only thing Max Klinger knew about Leah "Baby" Brighton was that she was unusually shy and possessed a stubborn streak that went with being the youngest member of the nursing staff. He was also aware of his friend's feelings for her. He had once interrogated Radar about his feelings for Baby, and the shorter man had just denied everything. Klinger didn't need a verbal answer; his young friend's actions over the past few days was answer enough.
He watched Baby sneak into the kitchen. What am I supposed to do? Protect her from vengeful mystery meat?
He couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that someone else was following Baby – following him. His concern quickly dissipated when he felt the butt of a rifle make harsh contact with the back of his skull. The last thing he saw through his blurred vision was a man in a plum suit and matching fedora waving a cigar in front of his face and shouting at him to stay awake, interspersed with rants about "that damned nozzle."
* * *
Captain B.J. Hunnicutt pulled the thermometer out of the patient's mouth. Damn! Still 102°. The patient moaned and attempted to kick the covers off, but he'd been sapped of too much energy to accomplish the task. B.J. double checked the IVs and sat down next to the patient. If it were any old patient that came through this unit, he would have handed over these tasks to the nurse on duty. But this wasn't "any old patient." This was one of his closest friends.
"How's he doing, sir?" a familiar voice inquired.
B.J. gripped the sides of the chair. "Don't scare me like that, Radar." Now I know how Henry and Colonel Potter must've felt.
"I'm sorry," the corporal said. "I didn't mean to." He approached Hawkeye's cot, seemingly examining the ill surgeon.
"No change," B.J. said quietly. Radar wasn't a doctor, but he was Hawkeye's friend. It was obvious from the day B.J. arrived in the camp that the captain and the corporal were like brothers. Hawkeye and Radar had gone through more than B.J. had ever gone through. "This must be hard for you, Radar." The boy nodded. "First Henry, now Hawk …"
The corporal whirled around. "Don't say that! Hawkeye is not going to die. Do you hear me?"
The captain sighed. "He's not improving. We have to face facts, Radar."
"A friend of mine had the same disease he has. There's a new treatment on the market – cortisone therapy. It might work, but it has to be done quickly."
B.J. shook his head. "Since when did you become a doctor?"
Radar gripped his arm. "Listen to me, B.J. Remember how you ask me why I know the things I do?"
The kid was right. He'd always wondered, but eventually surrendered the question to the file of "Why does bread fall butter-side down?" and other meaningless questions.
"Please, B.J.," Radar pleaded. "You have to trust me."
He whipped his head around and glared at the shorter man. "Trust you?" he spat. "Damnit, Radar! You aren't a doctor, so don't you dare tell me how to treat my patients." He was scared that his young friend would be upset by his outburst; surprisingly, he held his ground.
"You want Hawkeye to get better, don't you?" the corporal asked in a serious tone. B.J. could only nod in agreement. "I know how to help him. You have to let me."
The captain rubbed his temple. "I know. Look, I'm sorry if I snapped, but …"
"I understand." He jumped slightly, and then gave a dirty look to someone – or something – B.J. couldn't see. The glare faded into a look of worry.
"Something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. Just thinking, that's all." He nodded in the direction of his invisible friend, then returned his attentions back to the doctor. "If I tell you what you need to do, will you do it?"
"I can't make promises, Radar."
"Do you want Hawkeye to get better or not?"
B.J. threw up his hands in exasperation. "What the hell do you think?"
"Then listen to my instructions."
The surgeon part of himself was admonishing him for listening to the medical advice of an "uneducated farm boy." Yet, another part of him was desperately trying to cling to any miracle that would save his best friend – even one that came from the intuitive mind of one Radar O'Reilly.
* * *
Project Quantum Leap
Stallions Gate, New Mexico
February 12, 2002
Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci had been doing this job for nearly seven years, and he still couldn't get used to the part of the Leap when everything – as he liked to call it – went kaka. Sometimes, they were lucky: Leap in, convince Joey not to quit med school, Leap out. Other Leaps were not as simple. Dr. Beckett, that "overgrown Boy Scout," would have to accomplish two very difficult tasks at the same time. There was only one of Sam, and only one of Al. And nobody could convince Don Quixote and Sancho that one person was worth saving over another. They would have to be innovative, but – damn it – Hawkeye and Baby were going to be all right.
This is what the holographic observer kept reminding himself as he locked in on Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger and Nurse Leah Brighton. The corporal had a gift for sneakiness and for being conniving. He was also good at taking orders and held a general concern for his officers and fellow comrades. Ignore the Scarlett O'Hara attire, and you could bear witness to one of the finest examples of a United States Army soldier. This soldier braved muddying his dress in order to keep a certain nurse from harm. Nurse Brighton had just entered the kitchen; according to Ziggy's calculations (which weren't known for their accuracy), Major Davis would arrive in less than fifteen minutes.
He heard a frantic squeal from his breast pocket, drawing his attention to the flashing hand link. "What?" he called to the parallel hybrid computer.
"I should warn you, Admiral, that I predict with a 95.8% chance that …"
"Just cut to the chase, would you?" he grumbled.
As the rifle butt cracked the corporal on the back of the skull, Ziggy continued: "… Major Davis is going to knock Corporal Klinger unconscious in less than five seconds."
Al made a futile attempt to keep the man alert, let loose a string of profanities aimed at the "useless bucket of bolts," and centered in on Sam.
"You want Hawkeye to get better, don't you?" the leaper was saying to Captain Hunnicutt. "I know how to help him. You have to let me."
"I know. Look, I'm sorry if I snapped, but …"
"I understand." The hologram suddenly came into his view, and he jumped. "Don't do that!" he hissed.
"Davis attacked Klinger," the observer informed the leaper.
"Is he okay?" Sam mouthed.
He fiddled the unlit cigar between his fingers. "Unconscious."
That was enough for Sam to confirm that B.J. would heed his advice and to high tail it to the kitchen. Al floated alongside his friend, until a blinding flash caused Korea to fade into the stark white walls of the Imaging Chamber.