I'm baaaack! Can't keep me down, I once again have access to my account. I
figured it was about time to put a disclaimer on this, so..
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Fox, not me.
There. Ok! Thanks to all who reviewed - for the sake of this story, Margaret was NOT engaged at the time. Sorry it's so short, but I lost this whole chapter before, and couldn't be bothered to put in the rest. It still ties in with the next chapter, which is longer. The next chapter will be
the end. Alrighty, enjoy!
Sightless Eyes
Chapter 2
Margaret sat down at Hawkeye's cot, watching him tilt his head from side to side, obviously listening to something, but Margaret could hear nothing but the gentle patter of rain, and the distant rolls of thunder - or shell fire. She reached out, placing a hand on his wrist. He jumped at the touch. "Hey," she said softly, allowing him to recognize her voice. He smiled. "Margaret, as I live and breathe. To what do I owe this honour?" He was in a peculiar mood - cheerful after a week of depression. Margaret thought this to be a great step, but the Colonel was suspicious, and really nailed people who left Hawkeye alone. "He could be planning something. You turn your back for a split second, you turn back, and he's gone - in more ways than one."
"What were you listening to?" she asked. He grinned. "The rain. You should stop and listen to the rain. It's beautiful." Margaret smiled, encouraging his good mood. "I know, it's so..refreshing. I love it." Hawkeye sat up, leaning his head against his pillows. " The storm will cleanse my soul, and free me from the pain, as angel's tears fall to the earth, in the form of rain," he quoted. Margaret was stunned. All the poetry she had ever heard him utter had been either mocking parodies of existing poems, or filthy limericks and such. "That sounds like poetry," she commented. "It is," he replied lightly. "One of my personal favourites."
"Who wrote it?" He turned to face her, his blue eyes slightly frightening. They were like shuttered windows. "I did," he said, nonchalant. "Come off it. Who really wrote it?" He frowned. "I did. Why is that so hard to believe?" Margaret laughed. "Well really, you don't seem the type to write such..poignant words."
"Poetry helps me deal with the stuff that goes on around here. If I couldn't write, I would go insane." He sighed. "I wish I could write some now." Margaret thought. "Why don't you dictate?" she asked. "I'll write for you." He shook his head. "It's not the same."
"Why don't you type it?" she suggested. "I'll get a typewriter. Kellye!" She motioned for Kellye to keep a close eye on Hawkeye, while she ran to get Radar's typewriter. She returned shortly, placing it on his lap. "I don't know if this will work," Hawkeye groused. "I can't see what I'm typing." Grabbing some tape from her lab coat pocket, she covered the F and J keys. "Can you feel the tape?" she asked, guiding his hands to the keys. "Yeah. F and J, right? Ok, I know my way from there."
Later that day, while BJ was on watch dog duty, Colonel Potter walked into Radar's office, and stood in awe, watching the young man tear apart the office. "Radar, what the heck?" he asked, at the same time that Radar said, "I can't find my typewriter, Colonel."
"Well, don't you leave it on your desk?" "I always leave it on my desk, and now it's gone."
Just then, Margaret walked in. "Corporal, what are you doing?" she asked. "Looking for my typewriter, ma'am." Margaret beamed. "Oh, I know where it is." Both Radar and Potter turned to look at her. "You do?" they asked in unison. "I borrowed it." Potter frowned. "I think Radar needs it more than you, Major."
"Oh, it's not for me Colonel. Come here." She dragged the older man through the doors, into Post - Op. BJ sat next to Hawkeye's cot, the occupant of which was busily typing away, looking much happier than he had been in eons. BJ turned, saw them, and gave the thumbs up. Potter smiled. "I think this person needs it more than you, Radar," he told the young clerk, who stood at his elbow. Radar nodded. "I think so too, sir," he agreed.
Colonel Potter took the next shift, sitting down just as Hawkeye finished typing. "How goes the poems, son?" Potter asked, patting Hawkeye's shoulder so he knew he was there. "I'm finished, but I don't know if I made any mistakes or not. Can you read it to me?"
"Sure."
/Blindness.
I sit, alone in the darkness,
While they who live in the light,
Try to comfort me, help me.
Not knowing how much they take for granted, example, their sight ./
Potter paused, staring at the young man sitting less than a foot away, shrouded in a world of blankness, then continued reading.
/Daytime, I am part of nature,
Part of the things around me.
But when night falls, and the world hushes,
My fears, troubles, ghosts, surround me.
As one door closes, another opens.
That's not the case for me.
My job, my life, the ones I love,
Are all in jeopardy.
People cannot understand,
They try, use all their kindness,
But my body admits what my mind will not:
That I am doomed to the blindness./
(A/N: Sorry for the poem, it's not my best work, please bear with me.)
Potter stared again, considering the author. Hawkeye Pierce, dedicated surgeon, incurable prankster, friend. He wouldn't not accept the fact that there was a strong chance his sight would return. But that was only half the battle. He had never fathomed the amount of sadness, depression, anger, guilt, hopelessness, that the young doctor burrowed inside. But one look at those eyes, blank at first glance. But as you looked closer, you could see the emotions flicker - the despair, the terror.
The older man shook his head, motioning to the nurse. "Get Major Houlihan over here at once," he ordered. "Leaving me, Colonel?" Hawkeye asked. "Yeah, got some paperwork to take care of, but Margaret will be here." Hawkeye yawned loudly. "That's nice," he said, gently lifting the typewriter. "You can have this back for now, but I want it again when I wake up."
As Margaret entered the room, Potter stopped her, handing her the poem. She scanned it quickly, a look of shock registering on her face. "Colonel, what can it mean?" she demanded, turning her gaze to the troubled young doctor, asleep in a cot. Potter's face darkened slightly. "It means that he may be on the verge of giving up hope. And everything else."
***TBC***
Please review!
figured it was about time to put a disclaimer on this, so..
Disclaimer: These characters are property of Fox, not me.
There. Ok! Thanks to all who reviewed - for the sake of this story, Margaret was NOT engaged at the time. Sorry it's so short, but I lost this whole chapter before, and couldn't be bothered to put in the rest. It still ties in with the next chapter, which is longer. The next chapter will be
the end. Alrighty, enjoy!
Sightless Eyes
Chapter 2
Margaret sat down at Hawkeye's cot, watching him tilt his head from side to side, obviously listening to something, but Margaret could hear nothing but the gentle patter of rain, and the distant rolls of thunder - or shell fire. She reached out, placing a hand on his wrist. He jumped at the touch. "Hey," she said softly, allowing him to recognize her voice. He smiled. "Margaret, as I live and breathe. To what do I owe this honour?" He was in a peculiar mood - cheerful after a week of depression. Margaret thought this to be a great step, but the Colonel was suspicious, and really nailed people who left Hawkeye alone. "He could be planning something. You turn your back for a split second, you turn back, and he's gone - in more ways than one."
"What were you listening to?" she asked. He grinned. "The rain. You should stop and listen to the rain. It's beautiful." Margaret smiled, encouraging his good mood. "I know, it's so..refreshing. I love it." Hawkeye sat up, leaning his head against his pillows. " The storm will cleanse my soul, and free me from the pain, as angel's tears fall to the earth, in the form of rain," he quoted. Margaret was stunned. All the poetry she had ever heard him utter had been either mocking parodies of existing poems, or filthy limericks and such. "That sounds like poetry," she commented. "It is," he replied lightly. "One of my personal favourites."
"Who wrote it?" He turned to face her, his blue eyes slightly frightening. They were like shuttered windows. "I did," he said, nonchalant. "Come off it. Who really wrote it?" He frowned. "I did. Why is that so hard to believe?" Margaret laughed. "Well really, you don't seem the type to write such..poignant words."
"Poetry helps me deal with the stuff that goes on around here. If I couldn't write, I would go insane." He sighed. "I wish I could write some now." Margaret thought. "Why don't you dictate?" she asked. "I'll write for you." He shook his head. "It's not the same."
"Why don't you type it?" she suggested. "I'll get a typewriter. Kellye!" She motioned for Kellye to keep a close eye on Hawkeye, while she ran to get Radar's typewriter. She returned shortly, placing it on his lap. "I don't know if this will work," Hawkeye groused. "I can't see what I'm typing." Grabbing some tape from her lab coat pocket, she covered the F and J keys. "Can you feel the tape?" she asked, guiding his hands to the keys. "Yeah. F and J, right? Ok, I know my way from there."
Later that day, while BJ was on watch dog duty, Colonel Potter walked into Radar's office, and stood in awe, watching the young man tear apart the office. "Radar, what the heck?" he asked, at the same time that Radar said, "I can't find my typewriter, Colonel."
"Well, don't you leave it on your desk?" "I always leave it on my desk, and now it's gone."
Just then, Margaret walked in. "Corporal, what are you doing?" she asked. "Looking for my typewriter, ma'am." Margaret beamed. "Oh, I know where it is." Both Radar and Potter turned to look at her. "You do?" they asked in unison. "I borrowed it." Potter frowned. "I think Radar needs it more than you, Major."
"Oh, it's not for me Colonel. Come here." She dragged the older man through the doors, into Post - Op. BJ sat next to Hawkeye's cot, the occupant of which was busily typing away, looking much happier than he had been in eons. BJ turned, saw them, and gave the thumbs up. Potter smiled. "I think this person needs it more than you, Radar," he told the young clerk, who stood at his elbow. Radar nodded. "I think so too, sir," he agreed.
Colonel Potter took the next shift, sitting down just as Hawkeye finished typing. "How goes the poems, son?" Potter asked, patting Hawkeye's shoulder so he knew he was there. "I'm finished, but I don't know if I made any mistakes or not. Can you read it to me?"
"Sure."
/Blindness.
I sit, alone in the darkness,
While they who live in the light,
Try to comfort me, help me.
Not knowing how much they take for granted, example, their sight ./
Potter paused, staring at the young man sitting less than a foot away, shrouded in a world of blankness, then continued reading.
/Daytime, I am part of nature,
Part of the things around me.
But when night falls, and the world hushes,
My fears, troubles, ghosts, surround me.
As one door closes, another opens.
That's not the case for me.
My job, my life, the ones I love,
Are all in jeopardy.
People cannot understand,
They try, use all their kindness,
But my body admits what my mind will not:
That I am doomed to the blindness./
(A/N: Sorry for the poem, it's not my best work, please bear with me.)
Potter stared again, considering the author. Hawkeye Pierce, dedicated surgeon, incurable prankster, friend. He wouldn't not accept the fact that there was a strong chance his sight would return. But that was only half the battle. He had never fathomed the amount of sadness, depression, anger, guilt, hopelessness, that the young doctor burrowed inside. But one look at those eyes, blank at first glance. But as you looked closer, you could see the emotions flicker - the despair, the terror.
The older man shook his head, motioning to the nurse. "Get Major Houlihan over here at once," he ordered. "Leaving me, Colonel?" Hawkeye asked. "Yeah, got some paperwork to take care of, but Margaret will be here." Hawkeye yawned loudly. "That's nice," he said, gently lifting the typewriter. "You can have this back for now, but I want it again when I wake up."
As Margaret entered the room, Potter stopped her, handing her the poem. She scanned it quickly, a look of shock registering on her face. "Colonel, what can it mean?" she demanded, turning her gaze to the troubled young doctor, asleep in a cot. Potter's face darkened slightly. "It means that he may be on the verge of giving up hope. And everything else."
***TBC***
Please review!