Guilty Conscious
By: Brenna "Snakelady" Dawkins
A MASH fanfic
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox owns the rights to MASH. I've made no profit from this fic.
Summary: A lot of alcohol and a loss of memory leaves Charles feeling that something is amiss. Warning, hints of yaoi and rape! Klinger/Charles
(Author's Note: My first Klinger/Charles! My thanks to Sarah Perry the Charlesologist for helping me on this one. Chuckles wasn't being very cooperative and I asked for her advice for certain circumstances.)
Charles moaned as he curled on his side. God, but he felt rotten! His head ached and his stomach--- he moaned again and cringed at the wicked taste in his mouth. Not the usual mothball feel from an all night binge. What was that odd, indecipherable flavor? Thinking of what it could be just made his stomach rebel all that much worse. He brought his knees up to his chest, and it was then he realized he was completely out of uniform and had spent the night sleeping on the cold, hard floor without a stitch of clothing on. He tried to remember how it was he came to be there, where ever there was--- he forced his eye open and tried to look around without moving much. It was awfully dark but he knew the place. Gads, the supply room. One of the few places where one could really be alone, which was why it was such a hotspot for the sort of promiscuity that Charles despised.
He had to get out of there, before someone saw him. But, where were his clothes? A loud snort startled him on his far side. Who was that? With a great effort, he managed to roll over to his other side and then he wished he hadn't.
It just wasn't possible, Charles wanted to deny what it was he saw and couldn't come up with a rational answer, or at least one that he could stomach. Say it wasn't so! Try as he might, he could not recall much of anything before the last half of the poker game last night.
He had recalled he'd been ahead by twenty dollars and Klinger was wiped out but still wanted to play. Just how many drinks had he had until it all went blank? There was no way he could count them. He recalled Klinger trying to hustle him for an I.O.U.--- as if! The Corporal's credit was frightfully truant. Hawkeye and B.J. had been heckling him, as usual. If only he could recall about what!
Should he wake the snoring fellow and ask if the man remembered anything? No! He instantly changed his mind at that. Better let the man sleep so he could sneak away. Possibly, he wouldn't remember a thing anyway, and it would be so much better for him if he snuck out of there without being seen. Let the man wake up alone and wonder! He had what was left of his dignity to salvage!
Taking a quick look about, he found his discarded clothing and hurriedly got himself dressed and the Hell out of Dodge!
It looked like it was almost dawn. Charles felt he had deserved that much luck--- at least no one was out and about! He scuttled across the empty compound to get himself back to the Swamp and to bed unseen.
The next morning, Charles didn't feel much better. In fact, he felt worse now that his imagination continuously became carried away with just what he had been doing in the supply room with that scoundrel. How--- how in the world could he, Charles Emerson Winchester III of the Boston Winchesters of the old money and older blood, do such a thing with, not only someone that wasn't even an officer, but with another man?
But the memory loss was the thing--- the one saving grace. He couldn't be certain that anything HAD really happened between him and--- and---. Besides, the man was of questionable ethics was utterly beneath his notice while sober.
So did he or DIDN'T he? It wasn't like he could go and ask him now, could he? The unknown was driving him mad.
And besides, even if he--- did, what in the world COULD he have done? If he was so drunk out of his mind, he didn't think he could do much more then snore rudely. And besides that, what on Earth could two men--- DO together? He closed his eyes tight at the image that assaulted his imagination. He couldn't POSSIBLY have! He curled back up on his cot trying to blot out the ghastly imagery from his brain.
Klinger woke alone and confused. His head was propped up against a wall and through bleary eyes he could see he was fully naked. How'd that happen, he wondered then winced at the massive headache that attacked him full force. He moaned and tried to sit up. It took some effort and a couple of tries before he was somewhat vertical and discovered he was in the supply room.
He pressed his palm against his forehead and tried to keep the room from spinning. Klinger felt positively wretched. Just how much did he drink at that poker game last night? He hadn't a clue. Then he winced, taking notice of how it hurt to sit. Great, what was wrong with him down there? He staggered to his feet and dragged his clothes on. Limping and staggering, he went to find himself a doctor.
"Sir?" Klinger found an equally haggard looking Hawkeye trying to sober up in the mess tent. He scratched the back of his head nervously. This was potentially embarrassing. Not something he'd like the whole compound to find out about. His ass was no body else's business. But he sure would like to know why it ached the way it did.
Hawkeye raised his eyes up so he could see his visitor--- albeit blearily. "Can you keep it down? I wanna be lulled asleep by the sound of my brain cells dying."
Klinger hesitated, sat next to the Captain, and then winced, wishing he hadn't. He stood again. "Sir, I gotta problem."
"So do these things Igor's trying to pass for as eggs." Hawkeye glared at his unappetizing and untouched plate. "I don't think powdered eggs is one of the four basic food groups, I sure as Hell don't think of them as food." Hawkeye sighed. "So, what's your problem, can you make it fast so I can go back to feeling comatose? It's the only bright spot in my daily regimen."
"There's something wrong with--- well, my--- um---"Klinger floundered.
"The peace talks go faster and are more intelligible then this, Klinger."
"It hurts when I sit. Come to think of it, it hurts when I stand too."
"Where does it hurt?" Hawkeye contemplated stuffing the offending eggs down Igor's trousers.
"My, um, kiester."
"What, do you have a boil or something?" Hawkeye asked, interest piqued. "You know, I was feeling so unfulfilled in my job lately until now. How often do I get a chance to examine a friends rear up close and personal? Come on, Klinger, let's go to Post Op and have a look see."
"Sir, can we keep this little problem just between us?" Klinger asked uncomfortably. "It's embarrassing, ya know?"
Hawkeye nodded, glad to leave his eggs behind. "Any excuse to keep me from my breakfast. No worries, Klinger. Bun's- I mean mum's the word!"
After the initial examination, a frowning Hawkeye confronted an anxious Klinger.
"So, what's the diagnosis, Captain?" Klinger wondered.
"You inside's all inflamed and irritated and there's slight bleeding from tearing around your sphincter."
Klinger pondered over that one as he hoisted his pants up once more and belted them in place. "From--- something coming out?" He didn't recall having a bowl movement, or any kind of movement after the card game in the Swamp. He couldn't remember anything. He wasn't entirely sure how he had managed to make it all the way to the supply room, as drunk as he had been.
"Looks more like from something going in." Hawkeye's brows furrowed, "Klinger, I don't know how to say this to you, but, from the looks of it, well, it looks to me that you were--- raped."
Klinger was struck dumb. What'd he say? Raped? "Me sir? How can that be? I--- I don't even remember anything! How can I do anything if I can't remember it?"
Pierce shook his head, "The signs are similar to what I've seen from female patients who've been raped."
Klinger paled, "But, but, how can that be? I'm a guy, guys don't get raped--- don't they?"
Hawkeye gave him a kindly look and said, "I admit, it's a first for me. I'm sorry, Klinger. Um, do you have any idea who it might have been?"
The Corporal shook his head negatory. Pierce patted the man on his shoulder companionably.
"I can give you some ointment to put on the tears. As for the other stuff, I think Sigmund might be better suited to help you there."
Klinger sighed, not fully able to cope with the reality the Captain just laid on him. Raped--- no, it couldn't be! It was fully absurd! "Thanks, sir." He replied dully. "But I think I'll be fine."
Hawkeye worriedly watched as the younger man left, not all too certain what he could do to help his friend.
Winchester managed to push back the impossible horror from the night before and felt better by lunch. He even felt almost jovial and was able to chuckle at the idiocy of his bunkmates antics. They were so moronic, it wasn't even a challenge to feel superior in their presence. All the more pity. At least in Boston, he had more sport. Here, in the bowels of South Korea, perhaps the only one who showed more horse sense then he was Sophie, the Colonels horse.
After shoveling the remains of his inedible repast into the garbage, he strolled down the main walk, whistling Beethoven's 9th. He balked when he saw a familiar figure down the way. Maybe if he just kept walking by and whistling--- he proceeded to do so nervously, hoping to bypass the man who he had a horrible feeling he had done some--- thing with.
"Sir?" Klinger called out in a small and distressed voice. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Charles was flooded with a momentary sense of panic. Oh dear Lord, did Klinger remember something from last night? It took him a while to find his voice, but finally, "Yes, Klinger?"
"I was wondering, um, do you remember anything about last night?"
Relief made him feel bolder then he thought possible under such circumstances. "Apart from the terrible lighter fluid those two Philistines call alcohol, not much." He saw the troubled and almost frightened look in the gypsy's eyes and wondered why Klinger was asking him such questions if he knew something. His laugh was a mixture of nervousness and pomposity. "Why? You aren't wanting their recipe, are you?"
"It's just, did I leave with anyone?"
"What are you babbling about, didn't I already tell you I don't remember a thing?" Charles said hotly, trying to hide his panic.
Klinger looked wretched. "Sorry, sir. It's just--- never mind." The Corporal wandered away back to his office with a disturbed Charles looking after him.
He stood there, feeling shaken down to the core. Something had happened between him and Klinger. He couldn't take it back, whatever it had been. But he sensed Klinger had at least a slim idea at best as to what might have happened to him. The question was how? How would the man know more about what happened when they were both drunker then two cowboys at a cowtoss?
His walk back to the Swamp was a bit less jaunty and quieter. He tried to relax there by reading a mystery novel and listening to Bach. But how Klinger looked during that quick exchange kept derailing his concentration. It ate away at his conscious. Whether knowingly or unknowingly, he had done this to a friend of his. He couldn't live with himself if he left this thing undone. But what could he do about it now?
And there was the unexplainable blood he had found on his manhood he'd had to wash off from last night. How could he explain that bit away? His subconscious screamed for some sort of resolution, no matter how ill conceived. Something he could stomach at the very least. Klinger, that pervert! Most likely he'd been forced by the cross dressing freak and with his willpower weakened as it was in the state of inebriation, he had no hope of doing otherwise. He wouldn't have had any other recourse but to go along with whatever was forced upon him.
Hawkeye and BJ sauntered into the Swamp. It was clear that Hawkeye was highly agitated about something, but who knew what nonsensical thing it could be now? The littlest thing seemed to set the man off.
"And here I thought this was supposed to be a man's army!" Pierce retorted with heat at BJ.
"I know what you mean, now if only you'd tell me what the heck you're talking about." BJ replied calmly, taking his friends rant in stride.
Charles rolled his eyes. Imbeciles! There were more serious problems to be fixed then whatever it was Pierce was going on about!
"Nothing, nothing, it's nothing!" Hawkeye raved and sat on his cot, his manner belied what he said. Then he hopped up and waved a finger at BJ, "When you can't even trust the man you share a shower with! That's what this war's coming to!"
"O-o-o-kay, Pierce, whatever you say." BJ said stoically.
"Gentlemen, please! Some of us have greater problems to solve! But this incessant babbling of yours makes it somewhat difficult to make any headway." Charles growled from his desk.
"Oh yes, your problem. What, wheat down a point? Your butler asked for a dollar raise? Or is it the shine has gone from your forehead?" Hawkeye said in irritation.
"Buffoon!" Charles grunted in equal amounts of irritation.
"What are you going on about, Hawkeye?" BJ wanted to know.
"I promised I wouldn't tell, but dammit! This is important! A pervert could be on the loose!"
Charles paused, then glibly added, "But Hawkeye, a pervert IS on the loose!"
"You better not be meaning me." Pierce threatened.
"What, what--- did I SAY it was you?" Charles feigned innocence.
BJ sat back on his cot, "I'd love to take part of this conversation if I had a part in it in the first place. But for now, since I don't, I'd really like to catch up on a week's worth of sleep."
Hawkeye waved him off, still agitated, "Fine, leave a friend hanging!"
"Sure thing, Hawk. Night night."
"It's one in the afternoon!" Hawkeye mumbled.
"I'm sure it's night somewhere in the world." BJ said smoothly and turned his back to his friend and clutched his pillow in hopes of that ending that.
Which left Hawkeye in Charles hair, unfortunately.
"Look," Charles stood before Hawkeye could continue his rant, "I'd love to stay and chew the fat, but I've other things on my mind."
"But this is important!" Hawkeye glared at Charles, "A close and personal friend of mine has been violated!"
"And I just bet you are ticked that it wasn't you who had the pleasure, right Pierce?" Charles said callously.
Hawkeye snorted, "Not with THIS friend, I wouldn't. But someone did. Someone hurt him, and I'm talking more then just physically!"
"Then have him go to the Chaplain. After all, that's what the man is paid for, right?" Winchester reasoned.
"And tell him what? He doesn't know anything! Except that something had happened. I'm at my wits end about this! I can't imagine how he's coping if I'm this torn up about it!"
Charles was inexplicably silent. Was Klinger that bad off? Hawkeye was known to take things over the edge when there wasn't any call for it. Was the man just blowing off unrelated steam? Or was there something more to this then met the eye?
It was absurd! Why was he worrying himself over this anyway? There was no way in God's green earth he would have perpetrated such a hideous joining! Not while drunk, and definitely not sober! Damn that gypsy for making him have to justify his manhood!
But the nagging feeling that he had done whatever it had been to Klinger still ate away at him.
"Maybe time will be the best healer." Charles said quietly.
Hawkeye gesticulated wildly in his agitation, "Oh sure, here buddy, take two time off's and call me in the morning! I tell you, this is driving me nuts! I wanna know who did this to him and when I find out I'll--- I'll--- I'll DO something!"
The upset Captain whirled around and stormed out of the tent, leaving a quiet Charles in his wake.
Charles stood there for a few moments before stepping out himself. He needed to think and the Swamp was never really a good place to do such a thing. He walked and before he knew it, he found himself in front of Father Mulcahy's tent. In his surprise at the sudden detour he contemplated turning right back around and go for a walk in the countryside close to home. After all, he had no real baggage to be contended with. It hadn't been his fault! So why couldn't he walk away from the priests lodging? What in the world could he possibly impart? He had nothing he needed to confess! It hadn't been his fault!
But the door opened and he encountered a surprised Mulcahy.
"Hello, my son. Is there something I can do for you? I--- was just going out to check up on the orphanage."
Charles, flustered by the sudden turn of events, floundered, "A-a-ah, well, I'd hate to disrupt your charity work, Father. So I'll just be off. Heh."
"Well, I wasn't really due there for another hour, but my schedule was freed up so I thought I might come in a bit early. I can wait, if there's something I can help you with, Major." Mulcahy smiled.
The ranking officer laughed nervously, "No, that's quiet alright, Father."
Mulcahy peered intently at the man, knowing that no one came to his tent if they didn't need to get something set back on the right path. "Come on inside, Major Winchester. Let's have some green tea and a nice chat."
"A nice chat." Charles murmured in monotone.
The Father opened the door and ushered the Major inside. He obeyed and took a seat. Mulcahy poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him then poured himself one and sat down across from Winchester.
"So, what are we talking about?" The Father wanted to know politely.
"Heh, you tell ME, Father." Charles dodged the question.
"You came to me, remember?"
Charles laughed nervously again, "Heheh, so I did. Imagine that."
"Indeed."
"Okay, Father. What would you do if you knew a friend who had done something very bad?"
The Father's brows knitted, "Well, I wouldn't know until I knew what had happened."
"Um, I can't exactly tell you that Father."
"Why not?"
"They don't remember what it was they had done."
"Then how do they know they did something bad?" The Father asked.
"Because the--- the bad thing happened to someone else and they had found out about it. But they don't really know what happened either, except that something bad HAD happened."
"I--- see. Or rather, I don't see. This is all very confusing, my child."
Charles sighed and took another sip of tea. "Well, what would you do if you were that person who did the bad thing--- UNKNOWINGLY--- to the other person who was a friend?"
The Father was silent as he contemplated this. "I see. You want a way out for the evil-doer."
Charles laughed nervously again, "Heheheh! Evil-doer! Why, this chap is nothing of the sort! I never said he was an evil-doer! Why do you say that he was?"
"Look, I'm trying to grasp at the few straws you decided to leave me. It isn't much to hold onto." The Father sighed, "Okay, so he isn't an evil-doer."
"That's right."
"Okay then."
"Just--- someone--- who's done something--- questionable."
"Questionable enough to hurt a friend?" The Father reiterated relentlessly.
Charles frowned. He was leaning forward with both his forearms resting on his knees, teacup in between both hands.
"Um, yes." Charles said uncomfortably.
"What do YOU think would be the right thing to do?" The Father wanted to know.
More silence from the Major as he contemplated that. "I guess--- he'd make it right between his friend--- somehow."
Mulcahy nodded in quiet understanding, then, "It's difficult to come to terms with something that cannot be undone, my child. But wrongs may not go unrighted. Everything comes full circle eventually and it always hurts less to make it happen sooner rather then later."
Charles grunted. Confront Klinger. Confront him about what? It was all nonsense!
"This--- friend of yours. Any chance of having the hurt friend come in as well?" The Father asked.
"Doubtful. I doubt I could even drag my wayward friend in here to have a chat with you." Charles managed to reply.
Mulcahy nodded, having the grace not to let Winchester know he saw right through his 'I have this friend' routine. It was the oldest trick in the confidante book.
"Well, I hope I have been some help to you, my son." The padre said earnestly.
"I'll definitely relay your advice to my friend. He may not like it, heh, you know, he still thinks it wasn't entirely his fault."
"I see. But you were concerned enough to talk to me about it. That should sway him into thinking otherwise."
Charles finished his tea then stood. Mulcahy stood as well, setting his teacup down. Charles gave the Father his cup and nodded to the chaplain.
"Thank you, Father. I hope I haven't deterred you too much from your--- tasks."
"My pleasure, Major. I'm always glad to be of some help." The Father saw Charles to the door and let the man out.
Klinger had washed up thoroughly, nervously keeping his eye on the door. Anxious that he'd have to share the shower with someone. He still had no idea who it had been and he felt jumpy and withdrawn. His rear was still somewhat tender and he had applied the ointment given to him by Hawkeye. It sort of numbed the pain and he sighed in relief.
He considered going to Father Mulcahy about his problem, but vetoed that idea soundly. The less people that knew about this, the better. But he felt worse on the inside then the outside. Back in his quarters, he sat on his bunk quietly during a rare free moment and huddled there. Why him? He thought most people liked him, or at least tolerated him at the 4077th. So why had he been--- manhandled in such a manner? He lay down facing the wall and stared at nothing. He wouldn't cry though! Only pansies cried and he was no pansy! But the tears threatened and he shut his eyes tight against them.
He didn't know which was worse, knowing whom your attacker had been or not. He froze when he heard someone come into his quarters/office.
"Klinger, did you get the request forms for the request forms filled and sent out?" Klinger recognized Colonel Potter's voice. "Klinger? You feelin' all right?"
Klinger put on his best poker face and turned over to greet his commanding officer. "Fine, sir. Just taking a quick nap to keep my strength up! Forms are already in the mail." He said a little too brightly.
Potter paused, then nodded, "I see. Well, I hate to interrupt a good snooze. Just be on your feet by 14:30. Got some dictation to work on and I've been putting it off for too long. Damned inconvenient!"
"Aye aye, sir!" Klinger said and watched as Potter walked outside. He sighed in relief and turned back to stare at the wall. His funk back full force. If he had to wear his poker face too much more, he'd go mad! He sure as Hell didn't know how to handle an encounter with the next person to waltz in through that door. He realized that his office wasn't the best place to be alone in.
So he slid off his bunk and slipped outside.
Houlihan came up to him, eyes blazing. "I want a line to Tokyo, Klinger and I want it now!"
Klinger took a step back, not wanting anyone to come too close to him at the moment. "Major, the lines are down for who knows how long 'cause of all the shelling."
He nearly winced at her anger. "I don't care, you idiot! This is important!"
"But Major," Klinger felt like wilting right there. He really wasn't up to people yelling at him either. "I'm not making this up. There isn't anything I can do about it right now."
Clearly upset, Houlihan growled one more insult at him and stomped off. He sighed, feeling upset by the confrontation. Did she HAVE to yell at him all the time? He was only human for crying out loud! It certainly didn't do anything to help his present mood. As he strode down the road towards the Swamp, he quickly sidestepped into an alcove created by a stack of crates to escape the advance of a gaggle of nurses.
It was embarrassing to think about. He felt ashamed that he could have let something like that happen to him and he was afraid to look anyone in the eye--- not knowing who it could have been that had done that to him. He was pretty sure it was none of the females, but still--- he didn't know and probably never would and that made him angry. It made him feel like he couldn't trust anyone at the 4077th anymore. To know that someone there had done--- THAT to him and he had to live amongst that person unknowingly, it just tore him up.
They walked past and he skulked about the compound, taking the long and most unused way about to get to the Swamp. He had to talk to Hawkeye. Klinger didn't know about what, he just had an urge to talk to someone who he could trust. Not to say he didn't trust anyone else, such as Colonel Potter, but that man was of a different generation and had different ideas of what was right and moral. And there was no way he'd go to Mulcahy. Hawkeye got the honors then.
The man skirted around the tent and slipped inside. Unfortunately, Hawkeye was not to be found. Neither was BJ.
"Oh, hi, Major." Klinger said sheepishly as he stood at the door. "Didn't mean to disturb you, was just lookin' for Captain Pierce."
Charles had been trying to bury his mind in a book. It was a paltry work at best and he had considered burning it once before last winter when they had run out of fuel for their furnace in the swamp. But it helped keep his mind off his problem, sort of. Charles was frozen in his seat, his thumbnail digging into the page he had been on when he had been interrupted. He sat there, staring at Klinger, jaw somewhat slack in shock. He couldn't find any words at that moment so he said nothing.
Klinger flinched under the Major's wide-eyed stare. "Um-m-m, I'll just be going now. Sorry to interrupt." And he made to back out of the door.
But Charles managed to find his voice once again and set the book down on his desk. He raised his hand up, "Klinger, if you could please-"
Klinger hesitated, "What is it, sir?" He was still huddled by the door for a quick escape. In his eyes, everyone was still suspect.
Charles didn't know how to proceed. How could he just blurt his crime to the man? But as he looked at Klinger, into the Lebanese's eyes, his gut wrenched at the raw display of emotion he saw. A turbulent mix of things he couldn't put his finger on shone out from them. He might not know what they were, but he knew he was ultimately the source of them.
"I--- I have something I must tell you. It isn't, I mean, I don't know how to tell you--"
Klinger had never heard Major Winchester flounder for words before now. If he hadn't such a painful problem weighing on his heart, he'd have thought it rather amusing. After all, the Major always prided himself for his oratory skills.
"I do got stuff I have to do eventually today, sir. If you could spit it out?" Klinger prompted.
"Well, I can't just say it when you look ready to bolt out the door. Let's be civilized, shall we? Here, have a seat." Charles gestured to the nearby vacant cot.
Klinger obeyed.
"Now-"Charles racked his brain and nothing necessarily creative came to mind. This situation was not one he typically found himself in. "This isn't pleasant for me. I don't really know where to begin because I find even thinking about it most repugnant."
"U-u-um, sir?" Klinger had no idea what the man was trying not to say.
"Klinger, I've done something deplorable and utterly reprehensible. Something I haven't even been able to forgive myself of as of yet."
Klinger began to feel uneasy. Charles looked very--- haunted.
"I don't pretend to understand the causality of how it happened, only that it HAD happened."
"Sir-"Klinger interrupted but was cut off by Charles raising his hand again.
"This morning, I woke up under appalling surroundings and in a compromising situation--- with you."
Silence. Klinger stared down into his lap, fearful of looking at the Major. He knew he should feel some sort of relief in just knowing who it had been--- but he didn't. In fact, he felt inexplicably worse.
"Look, Klinger, what I think I did to you is inexcusable and I certainly would understand if you would never forgive me. I just--- it would not have been right for me to know it and keep it from you. God, Klinger, please accept my apology! I was not in my right mind last night after that game. I did not mean to hurt you. You have to believe me!"
Klinger heard the entreaty in the Major's plea and yet shrank back when Charles leaned forward.
"Gee, Major." Klinger's voice was small and wavered, "This isn't something one can get over with in a day. Probably never in my lifetime."
Charles leaned back, sensing Klinger's unease and hated himself for it. "I know that, Klinger. I'm so, so sorry! Isn't there anything I can do?" He said softly.
"You've done enough, I think." Klinger almost whispered, still refusing to look directly at the ranking officer who had taken liberties with him.
"What are you going to do? You--- wouldn't tell Potter would you?" Charles asked fearfully. He could be summarily discharged for such an act and that would go on his permanent record, damning his family's name and his reputation. It was bad enough that he had to live with the knowledge that he'd done the deed, would his name and practice have to suffer along with it?
Klinger slowly shook his head. "No. I wont."
Charles paused again, relieved. Then, "Hawkeye knows, does--- anyone else?"
"No. No one else, and he only knows I got, well, you know--- he doesn't know who did it." Klinger admitted.
Charles sighed heavily, "Please, Klinger, I can't let this wreck our relationship."
Klinger snorted, "We have a relationship? Since when?" He wanted to know.
"Good point. But we are friends."
"We are?"
"YES!" Charles collected himself from his annoyed outburst, "We are."
Klinger stared back into his lap. "You really don't remember what happened?"
"I don't. I just woke up beside you--- naked. I don't even remember who won last night at the game or how much money you owe me."
"So, what now?" Klinger asked.
"I don't know, Klinger. I really don't. I just wish I could take it all back."
"Me too, sir."
"Do you hate me, Klinger?"
"I should, sir. But I--- I don't know. I just know--- it'll be weird for a while."
Charles nodded. Indeed. But at least maybe now that they were talking about it, they could do something about that rift he had placed in between them. It would take a lot of work, but as the good Father had said, it would all come full circle eventually. And he'd do whatever it took to get there with Klinger in tact.
The End(Author's Note, additional: Not exactly pleased with this ending, personally, but I was having a very difficult time ending this. I just wanted to get this completed. Sorry.)