The M*A*S*H 4077th huddled under the encroaching night like a bird under
the overhanging eave of a roof. Even those for whom the day had passed in
carefree revelry now looked longingly to the last lights and wondered where
the day had gone and what had happened to it.
Hawkeye sat on Colonel Potter's desk, jumping up at every noise to look out the only semi-transparent plastic windows.
"I can't believe we sent them out there alone."
"Calm down, Pierce. You know we haven't been getting any phone calls. How do you know they haven't gotten there already and just not been able to contact us about it?"
"Yeah," Radar piped up, who had been growing inconspicuous in a corner of the room, "Who knows who's trying to ring us up on the ol' horn, right now. Maybe the war's over and we just don't all know it yet."
B.J. swung the door open and walked in, unannounced. All three pairs of eyes swiveled and focused in on him, and then slowly looked away, an air of disappointment filling the room. "Sorry, guys, just plain old boring me. No news, I guess?" he unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck and held it clenched in his hand, squeezing it therapeutically.
The Pooka spoke up before anyone could stop him, "Yeah, the Cam'rilla called, they said to tell you that from now on there's a ban on listening for heartbeats, and to order you to turn in your stethoscope when you got off your shift."
Colonel Potter shook his head, Hawkeye snickered wanly, and B.J. tossed the instrument at Radar. "They're welcome to it."
Radar skillfully dodged out the way of the flying medical instrument as B.J. turned to Hawkeye and continued, "He finally asleep?"
"Yeah, poor kid. I feel bad for him, Beej. Did you see the way he looked playing football today?"
"Did I SEE him? I think if you felt much worse for him, he'd be playing professional."
"That's not what I mean. Sure, the kid's got form, great form, but he's starved for company! Did you see the look on his face? I don't want to even guess how long it's been since he's been around another person."
"Another living person, you mean..." Radar whispered, "About 1946?" he ventured a guess, shaking his head.
"Exactly!" Hawkeye pointed at Radar, "He's been penned up by those vampires so long, he doesn't know what's what."
"Maybe we could talk to the boy," Colonel Potter suggested, "You know, talk to him, get him to work on our side instead of theirs."
"Our side, their side..." B.J. commented, aside, "This is beginning to sound like a war."
"That's what I was thinking, Colonel. Something tells me that without their little servant to order around, they won't be quite as demanding."
The door swung open again, and the same process of expectation and disappointment ran through the room as a newly cleaned and pressed Sidney Freedman walked into the office.
"Phew," he waved a hand in the air, "The shower still smells like grapes. Or some unreasonable facsimile thereof. Any news?"
Radar opened his mouth, but Colonel Potter lifted a finger up into the air and cut him off with a curt, "No."
Radar pouted slightly and leaned down to lift the dropped stethoscope by the rubber tube and fiddle with it as Hawkeye continued to speak.
"We're thinking if we can talk Sparky into helping us out, we can get around these creeps through their own channels."
"Those who live by the stake, die by the stake, you mean?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"It couldn't work, couldn't ever," Radar mumbled.
Hawkeye threw his hands up into the air, "I knew I could count on you, Radar, our own little ray of sunshine."
Radar wiggled his nose and flared his nostrils in a particularly ovine expression, and pushed his glasses up on his face, "I'm serious, guys. Once my Uncle Ed got a hold of some corpse-blood, and he liked it so much he couldn't hardly kick the habit. It's addictive-- but not even like cigarettes or nothin'. Like magic. It makes people like some kind of magic slaves, gives 'em some super powers like the corpses have, but makes 'em fall in love with the corpse they get it from. If Sparky's into the Colonel's blood, there won't be any getting him to help us against 'im."
Colonel Potter listened, the earnestness in his Corporal's voice separating the important information from the trim of lies. He drummed his fingers on the table. "You think that's what he keeps in that bag of his?"
"I'd say blood, almost certainly, Colonel," Sidney began. When he caught the odd looks he was getting for having this particular bit of knowledge. "Let's just say I spent more of the movie watching the vampires in the audience than the vampires on the screen," he explained. "The Colonel's wife seemed even more oblivious than Henry. But the Colonel himself..." he trailed off.
"Yeah?" Hawkeye prodded, sitting down.
"Well, let's just say that I'd love to get him on my couch for a session or two."
B.J. lifted an eyebrow, "First Sparky, and now Sid. Everybody loves this guy."
Radar snorted gleefully at the joke before stifling it.
"No, seriously," Sidney continued. "Symptoms of paranoia, obsessive- compulsive. Brought on by, as far as I can tell, acute hypochondria."
Hawkeye's face split into a smile. "And what a cute little hypochondria it is," he quipped, a devilish plan beginning to spin in his head and alleviating enough gloom and worry to let out a little levity.
Radar, piqued by the sudden spark of creative energy from Hawkeye, sat up straighter and tilted his head back curiously, "Hypochondia, sir? I think my dog had that, once."
"An intense fear of getting sick, Radar. Accompanied by the ability to convince yourself that you actually HAVE gotten sick. Most commonly found among the educated, especially doctors."
"And what's all this got to do with that blessed suitcase, Freedman?" Potter demanded.
Sidney's eyes widened and he opened his hands in a gesture of simplicity. "Placebos, sir."
"Placebos?" B.J. asked.
"Placebos!" Hawkeye howled, laughing.
"Placebos," Sidney explained, "If he can convince himself he's gotten sick, he can also convince himself he's getting better. I don't know how well vampires respond to taking sugar pills, so I'm guessing that that briefcase is full of their equivalent: syringes full of a liquid which I can only guess is blood. I saw him take three syringefuls during the course of the movie alone."
Hawkeye stood up, beaming from every pore in that peculiar manner that only Hawkeye Pierce can pull off, that manner which can stun the vampire and awe the pooka and even cause the hunter to think twice.
"My friends, what we have here is a very crafty Malkavian. He KNOWS he's gone nuts, and takes every precaution not to let it get out of hand. But if I didn't have a plan to get under that skin of his, my name wouldn't be Hawkeye Pierce." He smirked, and turned to Colonel Potter, holding out a hand to shake his.
"Hello there. Hawkeye Pierce, at your service."
~
Hawkeye sat on Colonel Potter's desk, jumping up at every noise to look out the only semi-transparent plastic windows.
"I can't believe we sent them out there alone."
"Calm down, Pierce. You know we haven't been getting any phone calls. How do you know they haven't gotten there already and just not been able to contact us about it?"
"Yeah," Radar piped up, who had been growing inconspicuous in a corner of the room, "Who knows who's trying to ring us up on the ol' horn, right now. Maybe the war's over and we just don't all know it yet."
B.J. swung the door open and walked in, unannounced. All three pairs of eyes swiveled and focused in on him, and then slowly looked away, an air of disappointment filling the room. "Sorry, guys, just plain old boring me. No news, I guess?" he unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck and held it clenched in his hand, squeezing it therapeutically.
The Pooka spoke up before anyone could stop him, "Yeah, the Cam'rilla called, they said to tell you that from now on there's a ban on listening for heartbeats, and to order you to turn in your stethoscope when you got off your shift."
Colonel Potter shook his head, Hawkeye snickered wanly, and B.J. tossed the instrument at Radar. "They're welcome to it."
Radar skillfully dodged out the way of the flying medical instrument as B.J. turned to Hawkeye and continued, "He finally asleep?"
"Yeah, poor kid. I feel bad for him, Beej. Did you see the way he looked playing football today?"
"Did I SEE him? I think if you felt much worse for him, he'd be playing professional."
"That's not what I mean. Sure, the kid's got form, great form, but he's starved for company! Did you see the look on his face? I don't want to even guess how long it's been since he's been around another person."
"Another living person, you mean..." Radar whispered, "About 1946?" he ventured a guess, shaking his head.
"Exactly!" Hawkeye pointed at Radar, "He's been penned up by those vampires so long, he doesn't know what's what."
"Maybe we could talk to the boy," Colonel Potter suggested, "You know, talk to him, get him to work on our side instead of theirs."
"Our side, their side..." B.J. commented, aside, "This is beginning to sound like a war."
"That's what I was thinking, Colonel. Something tells me that without their little servant to order around, they won't be quite as demanding."
The door swung open again, and the same process of expectation and disappointment ran through the room as a newly cleaned and pressed Sidney Freedman walked into the office.
"Phew," he waved a hand in the air, "The shower still smells like grapes. Or some unreasonable facsimile thereof. Any news?"
Radar opened his mouth, but Colonel Potter lifted a finger up into the air and cut him off with a curt, "No."
Radar pouted slightly and leaned down to lift the dropped stethoscope by the rubber tube and fiddle with it as Hawkeye continued to speak.
"We're thinking if we can talk Sparky into helping us out, we can get around these creeps through their own channels."
"Those who live by the stake, die by the stake, you mean?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"It couldn't work, couldn't ever," Radar mumbled.
Hawkeye threw his hands up into the air, "I knew I could count on you, Radar, our own little ray of sunshine."
Radar wiggled his nose and flared his nostrils in a particularly ovine expression, and pushed his glasses up on his face, "I'm serious, guys. Once my Uncle Ed got a hold of some corpse-blood, and he liked it so much he couldn't hardly kick the habit. It's addictive-- but not even like cigarettes or nothin'. Like magic. It makes people like some kind of magic slaves, gives 'em some super powers like the corpses have, but makes 'em fall in love with the corpse they get it from. If Sparky's into the Colonel's blood, there won't be any getting him to help us against 'im."
Colonel Potter listened, the earnestness in his Corporal's voice separating the important information from the trim of lies. He drummed his fingers on the table. "You think that's what he keeps in that bag of his?"
"I'd say blood, almost certainly, Colonel," Sidney began. When he caught the odd looks he was getting for having this particular bit of knowledge. "Let's just say I spent more of the movie watching the vampires in the audience than the vampires on the screen," he explained. "The Colonel's wife seemed even more oblivious than Henry. But the Colonel himself..." he trailed off.
"Yeah?" Hawkeye prodded, sitting down.
"Well, let's just say that I'd love to get him on my couch for a session or two."
B.J. lifted an eyebrow, "First Sparky, and now Sid. Everybody loves this guy."
Radar snorted gleefully at the joke before stifling it.
"No, seriously," Sidney continued. "Symptoms of paranoia, obsessive- compulsive. Brought on by, as far as I can tell, acute hypochondria."
Hawkeye's face split into a smile. "And what a cute little hypochondria it is," he quipped, a devilish plan beginning to spin in his head and alleviating enough gloom and worry to let out a little levity.
Radar, piqued by the sudden spark of creative energy from Hawkeye, sat up straighter and tilted his head back curiously, "Hypochondia, sir? I think my dog had that, once."
"An intense fear of getting sick, Radar. Accompanied by the ability to convince yourself that you actually HAVE gotten sick. Most commonly found among the educated, especially doctors."
"And what's all this got to do with that blessed suitcase, Freedman?" Potter demanded.
Sidney's eyes widened and he opened his hands in a gesture of simplicity. "Placebos, sir."
"Placebos?" B.J. asked.
"Placebos!" Hawkeye howled, laughing.
"Placebos," Sidney explained, "If he can convince himself he's gotten sick, he can also convince himself he's getting better. I don't know how well vampires respond to taking sugar pills, so I'm guessing that that briefcase is full of their equivalent: syringes full of a liquid which I can only guess is blood. I saw him take three syringefuls during the course of the movie alone."
Hawkeye stood up, beaming from every pore in that peculiar manner that only Hawkeye Pierce can pull off, that manner which can stun the vampire and awe the pooka and even cause the hunter to think twice.
"My friends, what we have here is a very crafty Malkavian. He KNOWS he's gone nuts, and takes every precaution not to let it get out of hand. But if I didn't have a plan to get under that skin of his, my name wouldn't be Hawkeye Pierce." He smirked, and turned to Colonel Potter, holding out a hand to shake his.
"Hello there. Hawkeye Pierce, at your service."
~