"Get -- get up you little swine! Where's the --" Margaret prodded at the snoring lump beneath the covers. Glaring, she took in a deep breath and shouted out, "Corporal!"
Suddenly, Radar sprang up, eyes wide. "What! What -- Major Houlihan!"
She only narrowed her eyes in reply. Radar weakly grinned and reached a hand out for his glasses while nonchalantly sliding his bear beneath a pillow. "What is it, Major, what's wrong?"
"Where's the Colonel?"
"The --"
"The Colonel! I need to see the Colonel immediately, Corporal, where is he?"
Radar slipped his glasses into place and reached around Margaret, fumbling for his robe. "He's sleeping, Major."
"He is not." Margaret huffed as she stepped closer. "I went to his tent. It's as empty as your --"
"He's not in his tent, ma'am, sir."
"Corporal, if you do not tell me exactly where Colonel Potter is, this instant, I'll have you on report for insubordination faster than you can squeak out one more 'sir'."
"Yes, sir. Ma'am. Sir." Radar jumped to his feet quickly crossed the small office, knotting the robe closed. "He's in his office, I'll go and get --"
"Go and get --" Margaret sighed as the young Corporal darted through the door. "Colonel Potter."
Hardly a moment passed before Radar's head peered back into the office.
"He wants to know who wants to see him, Major."
Margaret merely stared back. He nodded and ducked back in. A second later and --
"He wants to know why you insist on waking him 'before the roosters are in full voice'."
"Tell him --" Margaret faltered. "That's none of your business, O'Reilly."
Once again, a pause.
"He says if that's your reason why, it can wait."
Fuming, she worked to plaster a smile on her face, never thinking the grimace on Radar's had anything to do with that. "I just -- BJ -- he --" Margaret stopped. "Fine, fine! But I'll be back here in the morning quicker than he can say -- he can say --" She glared down at the figure cowering before her, and stormed from the office and into Post Op. Radar let out a small breath he hadn't even been aware of holding as her frustrated yells grew faint.
Letting the door quietly shut behind him, Radar darted a quick glance at the still sleeping figure of Colonel Potter, undisturbed and calmly snoring, and made his way back to his bed.
This, he knew, was going to be a problem.
***
Tugging the collar of his parka higher, Sidney stepped up to the door of the Swamp, and quickly knocked. Without waiting for a reply, he opened the door a crack, and peered in.
"Anyone home?"
Hawkeye looked up, startled by the psychiatrist's sudden appearance. "That depends. Mentally or physically?" Dropping the pen from his hand, he quickly pulled himself to his feet and opened the door the rest of the way for Sidney to enter. "I didn't know you made house calls."
"The way I figure," Sidney shrugged, tightly shutting the door behind him, "this is more important than the AMA."
Hawkeye weakly smiled. "Your patient is temporarily indisposed, I'm afraid."
"Indisposed?"
Hawkeye motioned to where BJ lay, sprawled out on his cot, lightly snoring. "I thought I'd let him sleep." Reaching for the still, he asked, over his shoulder, "Martini, Sid?"
"At this hour?"
"Better late than never."
"What the hell, my liver's too healthy as it is. Hand one over." Hawkeye quickly filled two glasses to the brim, pressing one into Sidney's waiting hands. A moment passed, filled with careful, silent sips, as they seated themselves near the stove.
Hawkeye looked over at the man asleep no more then three feet away. Resting his arms on his legs, he drank deeply from the glass he held. "He was tired."
Sidney nodded and gestured at the half-written letter behind him. "Writing your dad?"
"No -- uh." Hawkeye took another sip, glancing up. "Peg, actually."
"Peg as in BJ's-wife-Peg?" Sidney raised an eyebrow.
Hawkeye merely shrugged. "I'll let him read it before I send it, but --" He waved his hand in a half-lost manner.
"Actually," Sidney drained his glass, placing it on the floor beside him, "I think it's a good idea. Having two of the most important people in his life help him through this -- well, it may do more than I ever could."
"Than you could." Hawkeye mumbled under his breath. He looked away.
Sidney hesitated, watching the man fidget across from him. "Something on you mind, Hawkeye? Free of charge."
A shrug. "Nothing you wouldn't expect. I'm worried, upset, disappointed --" He cut off, sighing as he reached for Sidney's glass. Standing up, he made his way back over to the still. "He apologized. That's all he's been doing, ever since he told me. Apologizing, but I don't think he even knows what for. He insists he's sorry, insists he wants to end this -- this thing, but then he goes and pulls a stupid stunt like he did tonight."
Sidney turned searching eyes on him. "You're angry."
"Of course I'm angry, I have every right to be angry!" Hawkeye slammed a hand down, eyes darting over to where BJ continued to lay, peacefully undisturbed. He sighed. " Alright, I have no right to be angry." Sinking back into his chair, Hawkeye dropped his head into his hands. "God, what's wrong with me? Taking it all out on a man who can hardly handle any more."
"He's betrayed you."
Hawkeye snapped a head up. "What?"
"Don't get me wrong," Sidney held up a hand, halting the words on the tip of the other man's tongue, "All I mean is that you feel as if he's betrayed you, and that's alright. Someone's hurting him, and you want revenge on the man. Problem is, he's that man, so how on earth can you seek that revenge?" Across from him, Hawkeye sat almost entranced by his words. "Through harming himself he's betrayed you, and that would make anyone angry. Though he may be an almost unwilling participant, he's still a participant."
Hawkeye began to absentmindedly nod. "You're right, of course you're right. You should be right, this is your area of expertise. I just -- I've never felt so helpless before. It goes against my nature to stand aside while another man bleeds, but I can't seem to do much else."
Standing, Sidney agreed. "The best any one can do is support him."
Hawkeye looked over at BJ's snoring figure. "I always thought he'd be the one to -- I mean, I just can't grasp it sometimes." He glanced back at Sidney. "You know?" A moment passed. "You will be able to help him?"
It was then that the psychiatrist began to visibly discomfort. "Yes, I --" He coughed. "About that, Hawkeye --"
"Yes?" A suspicious tone.
"I'd like to take BJ back with me, to a hospital in Seoul, where I can properly treat --"
The rest of his words were quickly drowned out by the sounds of Hawkeye jumping to his feet. "You want to take him to -- to Seoul? As in Not Here? As in Away From Here?"
"I had thought to, yes."
Hawkeye spun around, standing directly in front of Sidney. "I thought you believe in treating as close to the front as possible."
"I believe in getting my patients back to the front as soon as possible, but I tend to treat them before I do." Just as defiant, Sidney stood his ground.
"I -- I -- no."
"No?"
Hawkeye nodded, firmly. "No."
Weary, Sidney briefly closed his eyes, opening them to the sight of a stubborn doctor. "Hawkeye, I understand your concern, but I don't think you have the authority to --" He broke off. "Alright, fine, I'll come back after breakfast, and discuss this with BJ, who, I might add, is the only one I could even begin to accept a 'no' from -- and I won't -- and we'll go from there."
Hawkeye fell to his cot, brushing his half-written letter to the floor. "Right."
"Right." Sidney echoed, securing his parka even tighter around him. A moment later, he was gone.
Biting at his lip, Hawkeye folded his arms beneath his head, eyes glued to the canvas above him. Despite his every thought against it, he was soon fast asleep, his snores gently mingling with those already present.
***
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Margaret struggled to focus on the list of patients in her hand. Quickly, she scratched a line out, scrawling a note above it, and laid the clipboard down on the desk. She leaned back in her chair, stretching and rolling the kinks out of her neck.
"Margaret, has any one ever told you that you have the ability to wake a man better than any cup of coffee ever could?"
Margaret nearly fell from her seat, startled by the sudden sound, and spun around to glare at the man behind her. "I beg your pardon, Captain Pierce, I'm an engaged woman!"
"So you say," Hawkeye wearily ran a hand through his hair, craning his neck to get a glance at the papers spread out across the desk, "Every single moment you can." Reaching over the irate woman, he grabbed for the top paper and stepped up to the nearest bed, ready to begin rounds. "You're relieved, Margaret. Oh-seven-hundred, on the dot."
"What? Oh." She glanced down at her watch. "I guess I lost track of the hour." Standing, Margaret began to straighten the mess, pausing at one form in particular. "Pierce --"
"So they say." He glanced up from where he stood, taking a man's pulse.
"A copy of Evan's death certificate needs to be made for our records and one for the records over at Grave Registration, so that the original can be sent to the family along with the remains --"
Hawkeye stood, fighting back his annoyance. "That's Radar's deal, Major." Turning away, he leaned over a cot, listening to the whispers of an excessively bandaged man.
"I thought that since BJ filled out the --" She cut off, as remembrance suddenly struck her.
"When's the last time this man was given morphine?"
Margaret didn't answer, hardly hearing him.
Hawkeye sighed, motioned for the soldier to wait, and repeated, louder, "Major, I asked when this man last had a morphine shot?"
Margaret whipped her head around, blankly looking at him. Quickly, she reached a decision. "Captain Pierce, I want you to know that I know just exactly what you and Captain Hunnicut, and god knows who else, are trying to cover up. I know all about what went on last night, and I also want you to know that I have every intent to take this before the Colonel."
Hawkeye felt his breath hitch. He hesitated, wondering if perhaps he had misheard the Head Nurse. "Ex -- Excuse me?"
"A man as unstable as --"
Rapid steps brought Hawkeye before her in seconds, exhausted eyes wide open. "Colonel Potter, Major? I can't -- you can't --"
"I can and I will."
"For what good?" He quickly shut his mouth, telling himself that a calm approach was the one most likely to lead to a solution.
"The good of the outfit. A man in Hunnicut's condition cannot be expected to --"
"His condition?"
Margaret neatly set the papers back down onto the desk, and looked over to where Hawkeye stood, concern and anxiety blatantly written across his features. "This conversation is over, Captain." She gave one final turn on her heels, and walked from the room as one who knew they held the upper hand.
Hawkeye sank into the chair haphazardly pulled out from beneath the desk, dropping his clipboard beside him. First Sidney, now Margaret. Briefly, the thought that there was no easy answer crossed his mind.
***
"Good morning, Father. Mind if I take a seat?" Sidney, balancing a tray and mug of coffee, gestured toward the space across from Father Mulcahy.
"No, no, not at all." Father Mulcahy stood, taking the mug from the psychiatrist and setting it down before him. As Sidney slid into the seat he added, "I was hoping to talk to you, actually."
Sidney glanced around at the near-empty Mess Tent. "Not much of a crowd today." He lifted a fork, prodding at what might have once been eggs. "Not that I blame them." He dropped his fork, what little appetite he had now gone.
"No, I can't say breakfast looks particularly appealing today. Casualties are expected later, I suppose most of the camp is sleeping while they still can." Father Mulcahy sipped at his mug, fighting a grimace.
"You say you wanted to talk?"
Setting his mug down and clearing his throat, Father Mulcahy nodded. "I understand the patient-doctor relationship, and the trust placed in the confidentiality between them, but I wonder, perhaps, if you could --"
"You're curious about BJ." Pushing his tray aside and leaning forward, Sidney shrugged. "While you're right about the confidentiality, I can tell you this -- I haven't spoken to him since the little party in the Swamp last night."
"Oh, I -- I see." Father Mulcahy looked down, swirling his coffee around. "Can you -- can you tell me if he'll be alright?"
"I haven't lost a patient yet." A small lie, though Sidney doubted the priest would mind.
He was right. Visibly, the man almost instantly relaxed, bringing his coffee to him lips once more. "That's all I wanted to hear. It's -- well, reassuring."
Sidney nodded. Excusing himself, he lifted his tray and made his way for the door, wishing he could find the same confidence.
***
Slamming the door behind him, Frank stormed over to his cot, dropping his bag down heavily. Moronic helicopter pilot, nearly killing them both by dodging this way and that -- Frank was sure those bullets would have missed them anyway -- and then he has the audacity to call Frank a -- a -- it was too profane to even think about. Roughly tugging his bag open, he wondered what half those words even meant, anyway.
On the other side of the tent, BJ blearily open one eye, peering out at the source of all the racket. "Frank, turn down the volume to this temper tantrum, will you? Some of us are trying to get some sleep."
Unaware he wasn't alone, Frank started and spun on his heels. Catching sight of BJ half buried beneath a blanket, pillow tightly pulled over his head, he let out a scoff. "Reveille was hours ago, sleeping off a hangover?"
"No, Frank, I am, unfortunately, completely sober." Looking the other man up and down, BJ added, "I see I'm not the only one without a hangover. What kind of leave were you on?"
Frank lifted his head, pompous through and through. "I, for one, don't need to be soaked in gin to have a good time."
"Frank," BJ closed his eyes, pulling the blanket up around his chin, "You couldn't find a good time if it took up shelter in your skivvies."
Frank narrowed his eyes, lifting a shirt from his bag. "Going to spend the whole day lounging about?" Without waiting for an answer he barreled on. "It's people like you that make me sick, Hunnicut --"
"The feeling's mutual."
"-- wasting the Army's time and money. You're here to serve your country, beat back the reds, fight for Democracy, not drink and sleep and --"
"Frank," BJ lifted his head, propping himself up on his elbows, "If I told you to shut up now, could I be spared the lecture?"
A tsk-ing sound and the rustling of a bag was the only reply. Sighing, BJ leaned back in the bed, and had almost drifted back to sleep when the door slammed open again. A brisk draft shot it's way straight to BJ, and he hurried to pulled the blanket tighter around him.
"Shut the door!"
Doing just that, and hurrying to the stove to warm whatever frozen extremities his walk from Post Op had produced, Hawkeye caught sight of Frank. Jerking his head toward the man, he looked over at BJ. "Frank back?"
"Yes, and without any alcohol in his system." BJ rolled over, working to shut out the sounds bouncing off the small canvas walls.
"I've got Nurse Daggett covering for me in Post Op. I just wanted to check in."
"Post --" Then, without warning, BJ abruptly remembered the night before. Eyes widening, he managed to stammer out, "Oh, god -- Hawk, I --"
Frank, shamelessly listening in, glanced up from where he was crouched over a boot, scrubbing at a fleck of mud. "At least one of you has remember his duty."
Hawkeye darted his eyes back and forth between BJ and Frank, perplexed. "What's he --"
"Don't ask."
"This -- this degenerate insists on sleeping until all hours --"
Hawkeye sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Fink to someone who cares, Frank."
"All I'm saying is someone who claims to be so concerned about the well-being of his fellow man wouldn't spend all his time laying about while that fellow man fought to insure his government, dying for his right to lay --"
Glancing at BJ, unsurprisingly wide awake, Hawkeye bent down over the stove, grabbing a bit of wood for the fire. "Frank, I'm warning you --"
"Hardly doing anything to help the cause, just laying there." Pulling a Bible from his bag, Frank carefully set it down on his desk between a recent picture of his wife and a photo of Margaret taken a few months before. "He calls himself a humanitarian --"
"I've never once called myself that." BJ broke in, a stab of pain evident in his voice.
"-- Thinks he's so much better than a ranking surgeon."
"Frank --" Slamming the stove door closed, Hawkeye straighten, shooting deadly looks at the back of the Major.
"If he can't pull himself from bed, you have to admit he can't be worth the --"
Hawkeye loudly sighed, slipping out of his parka. Puzzled, BJ watched as he ripped his gloves from his hands. "I warned you, Frank. Now I have no choice." A split second later he stood above the other man, pinning him with one hand, the other pulled back. BJ blinked, raising a hand to try and halt what he knew was coming.
A loud knock rang out and all three of the men snapped their heads to look at the door, temporarily forgetting what was playing out before them. Before a they had a chance to reply, the door flew open, and Colonel Potter strolled in.
"Captain, Major, Captain." He paused, taking in the scene before him. "Pierce, get off Burns, last thing you need is another Court Marshal." Catching sight of BJ, wide-eyed and unconsciously folding his arms before him, Colonel Potter got right to the business at hand.
"You'll be interested to know, Hunnicut, that I just had a rather fascinating conversation with Major Houlihan."
