Margaret startled slightly as a rapid, familiar little knock came upon the
front door of her tent. She lay over her cot, an out-of-date army manual
in her hands, staring at its words but not actually reading in any
significant way other than to let the words stream through her mind. When
she thought about Pierce's accusation, she fumed quietly, but didn't quite
boil over. She knew, after all, that there was some truth in it, and over
the course of her sulk her thoughts turned less and less to Hawkeye's
insult and more and more to the possibilities of being able to comfort the
afflicted Colonel in her own very special way.
The knock came again, even more frantic. She grimaced. "Go away, Frank."
The major barged in at the sound of her voice, paying no attention to what she'd said. She sighed and twisted her back to look back and rebuke him for his rudeness, but when she caught sight of him she jumped fully out of bed in surprise, pulling her bedgown close around her. "Frank! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Burns' lip twitched, he straightened his back with a great air of self-importance which didn't at all match his little whiny voice as he tried to sound prepared and in control, when in fact he appeared as one who'd just soiled his undergarments.
"Well, Margaret." He began, "If none of those nincompoops are going to take any steps for our safety, it looks like I'm going to have to."
He ran over to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Oh, Margaret... hold me!"
She stood still and rigid. "Frank. Your cross is poking me." He chided. He had, in fact, found the large cross that Father Mulcahy mounted in the Mess Tent on Sundays, and found some rope to attach the thing around his neck. It spanned the length of his torso and was about as wide as his shoulders. She wrinkled her nose, "And that smell--- you reek, Frank." She continued, her tone even and low as she gave an incredulous look to the amount of garlic Frank had draped around himself.
"Margaret! I'm just trying to protect us! Who knows how long it'll be before that vampire gets through with Pierce and Hunnicutt and all of those people, and comes after us? They all at least deserve to die. But we--- we're real and decent citizens of the United States! We can't die here in Korea!"
"Stop sniveling, Frank," she retorted, thrusting him away from her bodily. "Didn't you hear what Colonel Blake said? Those things don't have any real effect on him." She walked over to her vanity mirror and made her hair look presentable, shaking her head at the pitifully laden form of Major Burns in the mirror.
He approached, but kept a few feet of distance between them. "And what do you expect one of /them/ to say, Margaret? You really think he'd tell us what we could do to stop him?"
"One of 'them,' Frank? Just how many vampires do you know?"
"Welll... none, Margaret, but I'll bet if I did they'd be just the kind to do something like that. But that's not all--" He chuckled eagerly, "You'll love this part, Margaret. You'd better sit down. I don't want you to be to awed by my industrious nature!"
She stared at him coolly, and, when she saw that he was serious, sighed and took a seat at her vanity. "I'm sitting, Frank."
At which, Frank, oblivious to her displeasure, reached around and pulled from the back of his belt what appeared to Margaret to be a crudely broken and splintered chair leg. Margaret stared at it for a moment, her forehead knit up in confusion. Then her eyebrows lifted and her mouth gaped open as she realized what Frank had created.
"Oh, Frank!" she huffed, standing up, her hair whipping around into her face with the abruptness of the motion. "You wouldn't!"
"You bet I would, Buster," Frank spitted, admiring his work and rocking back and forth on his feet, obviously pleased with himself. "Just the next chance I get. You won't see Frank Marion Burns getting drained dry by some vampire, no sirree!" He squinted at Margaret's shocked expression, and seemed to note her displeasure with him for the first time. "But... you can't be on /his/ side, Margaret? Can you?" He whimpered, almost dropping his stake as his powerfully poised arm fell like a limp noodle to his side.
Margaret was on the verge of telling Frank just where he could stick that bit of wood. But she stopped herself. Instead, she bit her lip a moment, then put on her charming face and went forward to put her arms around Frank's neck. "Oh, Frank," she repeated, in quite a different tone. "That's not what I meant at all. I only was surprised because there doesn't seem to be any man on this base who'll stand up to that monster. But I should have had more faith in you, my big, strong man."
Frank giggled. "You got that right, Margaret."
"Now, you've got to be smart about this. Why don't you leave that--" her hands ran down his back, and she was surprised to find three more matching items in the back of his belt. "Those, rather," she smiled winsomely at him. "Why don't you leave those here, for now, and when the right moment comes we'll know where to find them. Hm?"
"Oh, Margaret... you should be a General!"
"I bet you'll beat me to it, Tiger." She growled playfully. "Now, why don't you take the rest of those out of your pants?"
She gripped the handle of one of them and began pulling it from its place. As she did so, Frank's eyes widened, and he let out a high-pitched shriek.
"Frank!" exclaimed Margaret, "What's wrong?"
"Ooh!" he cried. "Splinter!"
~
The knock came again, even more frantic. She grimaced. "Go away, Frank."
The major barged in at the sound of her voice, paying no attention to what she'd said. She sighed and twisted her back to look back and rebuke him for his rudeness, but when she caught sight of him she jumped fully out of bed in surprise, pulling her bedgown close around her. "Frank! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Burns' lip twitched, he straightened his back with a great air of self-importance which didn't at all match his little whiny voice as he tried to sound prepared and in control, when in fact he appeared as one who'd just soiled his undergarments.
"Well, Margaret." He began, "If none of those nincompoops are going to take any steps for our safety, it looks like I'm going to have to."
He ran over to her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Oh, Margaret... hold me!"
She stood still and rigid. "Frank. Your cross is poking me." He chided. He had, in fact, found the large cross that Father Mulcahy mounted in the Mess Tent on Sundays, and found some rope to attach the thing around his neck. It spanned the length of his torso and was about as wide as his shoulders. She wrinkled her nose, "And that smell--- you reek, Frank." She continued, her tone even and low as she gave an incredulous look to the amount of garlic Frank had draped around himself.
"Margaret! I'm just trying to protect us! Who knows how long it'll be before that vampire gets through with Pierce and Hunnicutt and all of those people, and comes after us? They all at least deserve to die. But we--- we're real and decent citizens of the United States! We can't die here in Korea!"
"Stop sniveling, Frank," she retorted, thrusting him away from her bodily. "Didn't you hear what Colonel Blake said? Those things don't have any real effect on him." She walked over to her vanity mirror and made her hair look presentable, shaking her head at the pitifully laden form of Major Burns in the mirror.
He approached, but kept a few feet of distance between them. "And what do you expect one of /them/ to say, Margaret? You really think he'd tell us what we could do to stop him?"
"One of 'them,' Frank? Just how many vampires do you know?"
"Welll... none, Margaret, but I'll bet if I did they'd be just the kind to do something like that. But that's not all--" He chuckled eagerly, "You'll love this part, Margaret. You'd better sit down. I don't want you to be to awed by my industrious nature!"
She stared at him coolly, and, when she saw that he was serious, sighed and took a seat at her vanity. "I'm sitting, Frank."
At which, Frank, oblivious to her displeasure, reached around and pulled from the back of his belt what appeared to Margaret to be a crudely broken and splintered chair leg. Margaret stared at it for a moment, her forehead knit up in confusion. Then her eyebrows lifted and her mouth gaped open as she realized what Frank had created.
"Oh, Frank!" she huffed, standing up, her hair whipping around into her face with the abruptness of the motion. "You wouldn't!"
"You bet I would, Buster," Frank spitted, admiring his work and rocking back and forth on his feet, obviously pleased with himself. "Just the next chance I get. You won't see Frank Marion Burns getting drained dry by some vampire, no sirree!" He squinted at Margaret's shocked expression, and seemed to note her displeasure with him for the first time. "But... you can't be on /his/ side, Margaret? Can you?" He whimpered, almost dropping his stake as his powerfully poised arm fell like a limp noodle to his side.
Margaret was on the verge of telling Frank just where he could stick that bit of wood. But she stopped herself. Instead, she bit her lip a moment, then put on her charming face and went forward to put her arms around Frank's neck. "Oh, Frank," she repeated, in quite a different tone. "That's not what I meant at all. I only was surprised because there doesn't seem to be any man on this base who'll stand up to that monster. But I should have had more faith in you, my big, strong man."
Frank giggled. "You got that right, Margaret."
"Now, you've got to be smart about this. Why don't you leave that--" her hands ran down his back, and she was surprised to find three more matching items in the back of his belt. "Those, rather," she smiled winsomely at him. "Why don't you leave those here, for now, and when the right moment comes we'll know where to find them. Hm?"
"Oh, Margaret... you should be a General!"
"I bet you'll beat me to it, Tiger." She growled playfully. "Now, why don't you take the rest of those out of your pants?"
She gripped the handle of one of them and began pulling it from its place. As she did so, Frank's eyes widened, and he let out a high-pitched shriek.
"Frank!" exclaimed Margaret, "What's wrong?"
"Ooh!" he cried. "Splinter!"
~