It was a natural part of the scrub room scenery, perched inconspicuously on the shelf above the CO's hook, as it should be. Hawkeye, the first to be relieved, stumbled blearily in the direction of his robe. The white linen top of the surgical outfit was swiftly hefted over his head, but, instead of sweeping down in the customary gesture of discarding it into the laundry bin, his arms sat upright over his head, in the manner of one being accosted by bandits. Then they bent at the elbows, his hands slightly meeting at the nape of his neck. Henry's hat, which Potter had innocently enough brought along, was there, staring him in the eye.

The new CO, a man of shorter stature, wandered in moments later, and, seeing Pierce in such a state, prodded aside a fold of the suspended surgical garb, and peered up into Hawkeye's face. "You okay, Pierce?"

Hawkeye's arms unbent at the elbows, and slowly came down to shake off the shirt the rest of the way. His eyes shot over to Potter's face. "Where did that come from?" he asked solemnly, pointing with a directed look towards the hat.

"Oh, that," Potter replied, stepping forward and retrieving the item from the shelf. The limp folding of the well-worn material made Hawkeye's heart sink; he felt somewhat nauseated all of a sudden. "I found it in my tent, just sitting there. You know who it--"

"Oh." He interrupted himself, the look on Hawkeye's face piecing together the mystery. Of course, he'd heard of the late, great Colonel Blake, and he knew that the camp as a whole had been wounded beyond the help of any surgeon save Father Time.

Unconsciously he fiddled uncomfortably with the hat's brim, and Pierce could hardly stand it. "Colonel. . ." he mumbled, "Could you. . . well, do you think that I could--"

"Of course, Captain. You'd be able to keep it better than I could." He quietly handed over the be-lured fishing hat, and Pierce, forgetting to change out of the pants that matched the now discarded shirt, slung his robe over his shoulder and made for the swamp. The afternoon sun glared in his face, and he was glad to get into the shade and, now, increasingly, warmth of the filthy tent.

When B.J. entered the tent after supper, expecting to find Hawkeye there, asleep, he only found his roommate's bed with signs of having been slept in, though poorly, by the sight of the blankets on the floor and the throttled pillows, and the distinct scent of liquor permeating the entire tent. It took him a second to recognize the hat that lay atop the ruffles sheets as that of the fellow he'd met the night before.

~