Disclaimer: No, I DO NOT own any of these characters. Even though I want to. Badly.
Inside the tent Hawkeye tossed and turned. They'd had twenty-seven hours of surgery, and the other three surgeons were still inside operating. Colonel Potter had forced Hawkeye to get some rest when it turned out Hawkeye was the only one who hadn't had any sleep. Hawkeye had only agreed when he found out that there were only a few more patients left in pre-op.
He stopped turning and lay on his back, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. Why did they always insist that he slept? He hated to sleep. When he slept, he dreamt. Dreamt of war.
He smiled lazily. How many of his campmates would guess the real reason for his hate of war? Definitely not BJ, and they were best friends. But then again, Hawkeye had had best friends before. There had been Trapper John MacIntyre, BJ's predecessor in the Swamp. There was… two people, actually, so it should be 'there were'. He hadn't thought about them in years. Then again, he'd had no contact with them since the final battle. No one from his old life knew where to find him. He'd protected himself. No one now knew who he really was.
Sometimes he had regrets, of course. But all he really wanted was to be left alone. He had no desire to go back to the life he'd left behind. In truth, all he missed was his friends. But that was a small price to pay for being left alone.
He really thought that his past had left him emotionally damaged. He was afraid to dream, scared of what he might see. He flirted with anything in a skirt. That was a remnant of the first real relationship he'd had. He also lied constantly. The only thing he'd told anyone in the camp that was approaching true was his nickname- Hawkeye. But he hadn't told them the true story behind it. He had no idea if his dad had even heard of Last of the Mohicans, let alone if it had been his favourite book. He'd been given the name when he was seventeen, when he and his friends had managed something his father had also done many years before.
He shut his eyes as he thought of all the death that had happened in his life. Nearly everyone he'd ever cared about was dead now. 'There are things worth dying for.' His godfather had said that, barely half a year before he, too, was dead. Someone might think that a war zone was a strange place for someone so sick of death to be. Well, they were right. But he had to be here. He'd trained as a normal doctor so that he could help people. Normal people. And he would go wherever he was needed so that he could help them.
He knew that a lot of the thoughts he was having were very disjointed, and that if he was talking, he'd end up on an infamous Hawkeye rant/ramble. He put his hand to his forehead and felt the place where, until about twenty years previously, he'd had a lightening shaped scar. And Hawkeye Pierce, formerly Harry Potter, slept.
And that, darlings, is all I have at the moment. I'm sorry that in places it tends to go very strange and disjointed, but I was trying to 'convey his state of mind' (yeah, right- it's not because I'm too tired to be writing this). Also, I didn't want to give away who he was until the end. I probably did, several times, but hey. If you think I should continue with this little story tell me when you review (hint hint). Anyway, ta for reading!
