"Let me get this straight: You call me here last week because your CO's
dead. That's understandable. Some people have trouble grieving. Tonight
you call me in from the front -- thanks very much for that little favor, by
the way, the Chinese were getting a bit too antsy for my liking -- because
your CO's alive again." Freedman nodded brief deference to Potter, "Former
CO, rather." Potter nodded forgiveness for the blunder, and Freedman
continued, "And now you're telling me that he's dead again?"
Sydney looked across the room to Henry, who was busy peering at a slide through a microscope. "Now, Henry, I know that decision-making isn't exactly your strong suit, but these folks are going to genuinely crack if you can't make up your mind on this matter. Speaking of suits, since I haven't seen any real signs of cracking around here -- Sorry, Klinger -- how's about we get up a game?"
"Holy cow..." muttered Henry, giving no sign that he'd heard anything of what the psychologist was saying.
"Poker?" thundered Potter, "Sydney, we've got a man here who should by all rights be reaching the 'doornail' state, and you want to play a game of poker?"
Sydney looked Henry over as he stood up from the stool and boggled down at the microscope machine. "I don't know, he looks alright to me. You lose some weight, Henry?"
"Yeah, now that you mention it, I do think I dropped a fe--" Henry started absent-mindedly, then cut himself short. "Sidney! For crying out loud..."
"Freedman, take a look under that glass." Potter ordered solemnly.
The psychologist shrugged and went over to peer in. "So?"
"So?!" Potter bellowed, then calmed himself. After all, it'd probably been a few years since Sid had seen that side of the medical profession. "So," he repeated, more gently, but still quite seriously, "Blood isn't supposed to... to do that." He felt strange talking about blood as an active agent like that, and it took a second for him to wrap his mind around it.
"To do what, Colonel?" queried Pierce, who had just walked in, a splash of coffee down his shirt and another, larger one across his shoulder.
"Where's Margaret, Pierce? She should see this, too." He gestured over to the microscope. Henry yielded the floor in front of the machine to Hawkeye, who duly stepped toward it, asking, meanwhile, "So, how's our patient, Colonel? Margaret had some ladies' troubles." He snickered softly. "I'm glad I got out of there with my skin."
Potter shook his head, "Well, this is my third war, and I've had the great misfortune of having to pronounce many men to be dead. But I think this is the first time I've ever had to pronounce it to his face. And just take a look at that blood sample. I can't make head or tail of it."
Pierce had been leaning over the machine during this last statement, and was quiet for a while. "Hmm." He finally uttered.
"You know, Henry," he went on, "I have the strangest feeling that this is approximately what it would look like for two different blood types, say, for instance, yours and mine, to coexist without clotting." He stood up with an amused grin on his face. Henry's eyes widened and he sat down slowly on the examination table.
"Oh, jeez, Hawk..." was all he could think to say.
Radar, who had been making himself inconspicuous in a corner and who had been looking more and more uncomfortable as the examination went on, suddenly turned a greenish hue and rushed outside.
Henry placed his hands at his sides upon the table to go after the boy, but was halted by a gesture from Sidney. "I'll go talk to him, Henry." Colonel Blake settled back down. He began to feel aware of the nearly palpable stare of the chaplain on the back of his head. He shook it off when Hawkeye spoke.
"Henry, you have to stop beating yourself up over what happened, okay? Something's wrong with you. Hell, everything's wrong with you. There'll have to be... adjustments... to your condition." He looked around to the somber crowd. "Condition! Listen to me, talking like a doctor. Why don't we call a duck a duck here, folks? Our little Henry's grown up into a full-fledged vampire." Hawkeye pinched gently at Henry's cheek with the attitude of a proud uncle, which seemed to amuse him, no matter what annoyed faces he made.
"A being of darkness, you mean?" Mulcahy piped up. "A demon, maybe?"
"A child of Cain..." whispered the voice in his head.
"A child of Cain!" Mulcahy repeated emphatically. "Is that what you are, now, Henry?"
"Now, just a second, Father--" Henry objected.
Hawkeye spoke at about the same time, "Calm down, Padre... He's still our Henry Blake, same lovable guy as always. Right, Henry?"
Henry hopped up from where he was seated. Sidney's comment about him had not been completely unfounded. He seemed a good deal fitter than in life, his face and features even a tad more youthful. "Of course, Pierce." He agreed readily.
Mulcahy stood solemnly, his face etched in a non-customary worried frown. "I'm not sure I can believe that." He looked down to the floor briefly, and quickly amended, "However much I'd like to. Something-- Someone-- tells me it's wrong."
Hawkeye looked up briefly to the ceiling, "Someone, Father?"
Mulcahy caught the gesture, and weakly nodded. "I think so."
Hawkeye, Henry, and Potter exchanged glances. Hawkeye broke the silence, "So now we've got two in the act. We'd better watch out the next time the moon is full."
"Hawk?" asked Henry, confusedly.
Hawkeye grinned and executed a little wolfish howl. "The nurses'd better keep on their toes... I might turn into a real animal..."
Potter rolled his eyes, and turned to Blake and Mulcahy. "So. I'm not really sure about the proper procedure here. Give me a hand. Blake," he gestured to the Chaplain's collar. "Crosses?" He had to score a few points for managing to ask that particular question in a dignified and serious manner.
"Ah, they're okay on their own, sir..." Henry replied, "But I'm sorry to say that the Padre there himself makes me feel a little..." he struggled for a word. "Ookey." Was all he could come up with.
Mulcahy raised an eyebrow, "The feeling is mutual."
"All right, all right. You think you can /control/ yourselves around one another?"
Henry felt, and he was correct on this point, that the word 'control' had been directed at him. The two of them nodded like scolded children.
"Fine, then. Now, I want someone to stay with Blake here at all times. We don't want a repeat of the episode in the supply tent, hear me?"
Hawkeye smiled, "I'll babysit, Colonel," he volunteered.
Potter nodded, "Good. And, uh, Klinger, make sure the VIP tent is set up. Set up a guard rotation shift for the door. I don't want anyone going in there with him alone, and I want to make sure he doesn't leave without an escort."
Potter noted the mildly shocked expression on Henry's face. "You understand, I've got an outfit to run here, Henry."
"Um... right, sir, of course."
~
Sydney looked across the room to Henry, who was busy peering at a slide through a microscope. "Now, Henry, I know that decision-making isn't exactly your strong suit, but these folks are going to genuinely crack if you can't make up your mind on this matter. Speaking of suits, since I haven't seen any real signs of cracking around here -- Sorry, Klinger -- how's about we get up a game?"
"Holy cow..." muttered Henry, giving no sign that he'd heard anything of what the psychologist was saying.
"Poker?" thundered Potter, "Sydney, we've got a man here who should by all rights be reaching the 'doornail' state, and you want to play a game of poker?"
Sydney looked Henry over as he stood up from the stool and boggled down at the microscope machine. "I don't know, he looks alright to me. You lose some weight, Henry?"
"Yeah, now that you mention it, I do think I dropped a fe--" Henry started absent-mindedly, then cut himself short. "Sidney! For crying out loud..."
"Freedman, take a look under that glass." Potter ordered solemnly.
The psychologist shrugged and went over to peer in. "So?"
"So?!" Potter bellowed, then calmed himself. After all, it'd probably been a few years since Sid had seen that side of the medical profession. "So," he repeated, more gently, but still quite seriously, "Blood isn't supposed to... to do that." He felt strange talking about blood as an active agent like that, and it took a second for him to wrap his mind around it.
"To do what, Colonel?" queried Pierce, who had just walked in, a splash of coffee down his shirt and another, larger one across his shoulder.
"Where's Margaret, Pierce? She should see this, too." He gestured over to the microscope. Henry yielded the floor in front of the machine to Hawkeye, who duly stepped toward it, asking, meanwhile, "So, how's our patient, Colonel? Margaret had some ladies' troubles." He snickered softly. "I'm glad I got out of there with my skin."
Potter shook his head, "Well, this is my third war, and I've had the great misfortune of having to pronounce many men to be dead. But I think this is the first time I've ever had to pronounce it to his face. And just take a look at that blood sample. I can't make head or tail of it."
Pierce had been leaning over the machine during this last statement, and was quiet for a while. "Hmm." He finally uttered.
"You know, Henry," he went on, "I have the strangest feeling that this is approximately what it would look like for two different blood types, say, for instance, yours and mine, to coexist without clotting." He stood up with an amused grin on his face. Henry's eyes widened and he sat down slowly on the examination table.
"Oh, jeez, Hawk..." was all he could think to say.
Radar, who had been making himself inconspicuous in a corner and who had been looking more and more uncomfortable as the examination went on, suddenly turned a greenish hue and rushed outside.
Henry placed his hands at his sides upon the table to go after the boy, but was halted by a gesture from Sidney. "I'll go talk to him, Henry." Colonel Blake settled back down. He began to feel aware of the nearly palpable stare of the chaplain on the back of his head. He shook it off when Hawkeye spoke.
"Henry, you have to stop beating yourself up over what happened, okay? Something's wrong with you. Hell, everything's wrong with you. There'll have to be... adjustments... to your condition." He looked around to the somber crowd. "Condition! Listen to me, talking like a doctor. Why don't we call a duck a duck here, folks? Our little Henry's grown up into a full-fledged vampire." Hawkeye pinched gently at Henry's cheek with the attitude of a proud uncle, which seemed to amuse him, no matter what annoyed faces he made.
"A being of darkness, you mean?" Mulcahy piped up. "A demon, maybe?"
"A child of Cain..." whispered the voice in his head.
"A child of Cain!" Mulcahy repeated emphatically. "Is that what you are, now, Henry?"
"Now, just a second, Father--" Henry objected.
Hawkeye spoke at about the same time, "Calm down, Padre... He's still our Henry Blake, same lovable guy as always. Right, Henry?"
Henry hopped up from where he was seated. Sidney's comment about him had not been completely unfounded. He seemed a good deal fitter than in life, his face and features even a tad more youthful. "Of course, Pierce." He agreed readily.
Mulcahy stood solemnly, his face etched in a non-customary worried frown. "I'm not sure I can believe that." He looked down to the floor briefly, and quickly amended, "However much I'd like to. Something-- Someone-- tells me it's wrong."
Hawkeye looked up briefly to the ceiling, "Someone, Father?"
Mulcahy caught the gesture, and weakly nodded. "I think so."
Hawkeye, Henry, and Potter exchanged glances. Hawkeye broke the silence, "So now we've got two in the act. We'd better watch out the next time the moon is full."
"Hawk?" asked Henry, confusedly.
Hawkeye grinned and executed a little wolfish howl. "The nurses'd better keep on their toes... I might turn into a real animal..."
Potter rolled his eyes, and turned to Blake and Mulcahy. "So. I'm not really sure about the proper procedure here. Give me a hand. Blake," he gestured to the Chaplain's collar. "Crosses?" He had to score a few points for managing to ask that particular question in a dignified and serious manner.
"Ah, they're okay on their own, sir..." Henry replied, "But I'm sorry to say that the Padre there himself makes me feel a little..." he struggled for a word. "Ookey." Was all he could come up with.
Mulcahy raised an eyebrow, "The feeling is mutual."
"All right, all right. You think you can /control/ yourselves around one another?"
Henry felt, and he was correct on this point, that the word 'control' had been directed at him. The two of them nodded like scolded children.
"Fine, then. Now, I want someone to stay with Blake here at all times. We don't want a repeat of the episode in the supply tent, hear me?"
Hawkeye smiled, "I'll babysit, Colonel," he volunteered.
Potter nodded, "Good. And, uh, Klinger, make sure the VIP tent is set up. Set up a guard rotation shift for the door. I don't want anyone going in there with him alone, and I want to make sure he doesn't leave without an escort."
Potter noted the mildly shocked expression on Henry's face. "You understand, I've got an outfit to run here, Henry."
"Um... right, sir, of course."
~