Margaret made sure Hawkeye was settled at one of the tables in the deserted
mess tent, and started up a pot of what passed for coffee in this man's
army. As she leaned back against the table that served as buffet at
mealtimes, listening out for the coffee to be done, she murmured, "That
poor man," just loud enough to be heard by the ears on the drooping head of
the slouching Hawkeye. He was still a bit worn out from his experience,
and decided that a bit of coffee would put him in a state to be up the rest
of the night with their new old commander. Potter had suggested that
Margaret go with him, just in case.
Hawkeye perked up at her words, "What's that, Major?" he chimed winsomely. "Want to come here and make me better?"
Her face solidified into her usual disapproving grimace. "Not you, Pierce." She chided. "Henry! What he's gone through... I can't imagine!"
"What /he's/ gone through? Margaret, you're forgetting who got attacked, here." He tapped the side of his neck, "Remember?" The story of the attack, had, of course, come out in the staff meeting before the troupe, less the fawning Major and the somnolent Captain, had wandered over to the examination room to try to put a finger on what exactly was going on.
Margaret poured a cup of coffee and bore it hastily, almost impatiently, to Hawkeye. "Drink." She said, obviously no less than an order. She didn't figure he'd understand, anyhow. What a traumatic week Henry had had, and with what a steady head he'd taken the entirety of it.
Hawkeye briefly forgot to defy her and took a sip, looking up at her face as he did so.
The coffee cup drifted away from his face to reveal an ear-to-ear grin.
"Why, Margaret!"
She looked down at him crossly, about to ask what he wanted now before he followed up,
"You're smitten!"
Margaret, flustered, sputtered, "I-- I don't know what you're talking about!"
Hawkeye half-stood up, abandoning his coffee, this little amusement much more fascinating.
"Yes, you do! I see it! That look... I've seen it before. That's the 'Oh, you want a private meeting with me, General?' look! That's the 'Frank, I just got a new medical journal in mail call, will you go through it with me?' look!" He leaned back on the table's edge, giggling with glee in between accusations. He was exaggerating, of course... but he'd picked up on it, nevertheless, and her reaction -- something near panic -- was enough to lead him on.
She wheeled around and picked up the coffee mug, shoving it into the surgeon's hands, spilling some of the cooling liquid down his shirtfront. "Drink your coffee, Pierce, and stop making childish comments." She hastily went to pour another cup of coffee. SHE needed one now. If only to put her mind off of Hawkeye's intimations.
"Oh, don't worry, Hot Lips," Hawkeye called after her, "I won't say a word. I just didn't think Henry was your type, that's all... you know... unmilitary... unmuscular... undead." He finished up. He grinned and looked over to see her reaction just in time to dodge out of the way of the coffee cup flying at his head.
As she stormed out of the room, he wondered why everyone seemed to want him dead, tonight.
While he was formulating a witty mental reply to his whimsical question, the word, "undead," jumped back into his mind.
"Aha!" he contemplated. "So that's what's got a fire under Hot Lips. Maybe she's one of those women who goes to sleep with a copy of Dracula under her pillow and makes sure never to eat anything with garlic on it, just in case Mr. Tall Dark and Fanged should be around the next dark corner."
He chuckled lightly to himself, getting a kick out of trying to imagine what Houlihan might be imagining. He sipped his coffee and silently lifted a hand to his neck. Come to think of it, the entire experience hadn't felt too bad at all. In fact... well, yes, the actual feeling, which he'd made serious efforts to put in an unused corner of his subconscious mind simply because it was connected to the personage of Henry B. Blake (hell, he might joke about those kind of things, but beyond a point it just got creepy -- not that there was much that wasn't creepy about the night, so far), was far more enticing than any sexual encounter he'd had in his life.
He might have to check around for another sort of 'ladies of the night' from now on.
His mind turned back to the subject of Margaret and her newest infatuation. He tucked away in the back of his thoughts a seedling idea that this was too great an opportunity to pass up, and headed over to the examining room to see how things were progressing there.
~
Hawkeye perked up at her words, "What's that, Major?" he chimed winsomely. "Want to come here and make me better?"
Her face solidified into her usual disapproving grimace. "Not you, Pierce." She chided. "Henry! What he's gone through... I can't imagine!"
"What /he's/ gone through? Margaret, you're forgetting who got attacked, here." He tapped the side of his neck, "Remember?" The story of the attack, had, of course, come out in the staff meeting before the troupe, less the fawning Major and the somnolent Captain, had wandered over to the examination room to try to put a finger on what exactly was going on.
Margaret poured a cup of coffee and bore it hastily, almost impatiently, to Hawkeye. "Drink." She said, obviously no less than an order. She didn't figure he'd understand, anyhow. What a traumatic week Henry had had, and with what a steady head he'd taken the entirety of it.
Hawkeye briefly forgot to defy her and took a sip, looking up at her face as he did so.
The coffee cup drifted away from his face to reveal an ear-to-ear grin.
"Why, Margaret!"
She looked down at him crossly, about to ask what he wanted now before he followed up,
"You're smitten!"
Margaret, flustered, sputtered, "I-- I don't know what you're talking about!"
Hawkeye half-stood up, abandoning his coffee, this little amusement much more fascinating.
"Yes, you do! I see it! That look... I've seen it before. That's the 'Oh, you want a private meeting with me, General?' look! That's the 'Frank, I just got a new medical journal in mail call, will you go through it with me?' look!" He leaned back on the table's edge, giggling with glee in between accusations. He was exaggerating, of course... but he'd picked up on it, nevertheless, and her reaction -- something near panic -- was enough to lead him on.
She wheeled around and picked up the coffee mug, shoving it into the surgeon's hands, spilling some of the cooling liquid down his shirtfront. "Drink your coffee, Pierce, and stop making childish comments." She hastily went to pour another cup of coffee. SHE needed one now. If only to put her mind off of Hawkeye's intimations.
"Oh, don't worry, Hot Lips," Hawkeye called after her, "I won't say a word. I just didn't think Henry was your type, that's all... you know... unmilitary... unmuscular... undead." He finished up. He grinned and looked over to see her reaction just in time to dodge out of the way of the coffee cup flying at his head.
As she stormed out of the room, he wondered why everyone seemed to want him dead, tonight.
While he was formulating a witty mental reply to his whimsical question, the word, "undead," jumped back into his mind.
"Aha!" he contemplated. "So that's what's got a fire under Hot Lips. Maybe she's one of those women who goes to sleep with a copy of Dracula under her pillow and makes sure never to eat anything with garlic on it, just in case Mr. Tall Dark and Fanged should be around the next dark corner."
He chuckled lightly to himself, getting a kick out of trying to imagine what Houlihan might be imagining. He sipped his coffee and silently lifted a hand to his neck. Come to think of it, the entire experience hadn't felt too bad at all. In fact... well, yes, the actual feeling, which he'd made serious efforts to put in an unused corner of his subconscious mind simply because it was connected to the personage of Henry B. Blake (hell, he might joke about those kind of things, but beyond a point it just got creepy -- not that there was much that wasn't creepy about the night, so far), was far more enticing than any sexual encounter he'd had in his life.
He might have to check around for another sort of 'ladies of the night' from now on.
His mind turned back to the subject of Margaret and her newest infatuation. He tucked away in the back of his thoughts a seedling idea that this was too great an opportunity to pass up, and headed over to the examining room to see how things were progressing there.
~