AH! GOMEN NASAI! I'M SO SORRY! I know, I haven't updated in weeks. . . but school's been brutal. . . Um, my sister went back into the hospital. That's another reason I haven't been updating. . . But she's out now! She just had another hole in her bladder. The doctor's patched it up now. And on the 22nd, I went to an Alison Krauss concert. IT ROCKED!
Oh, andlast week(1/28/05), my school got a bomb threat. As strange as it is to say, it was fun.
EVENT OF THE DAY:
Actually, it was the event of last week, but whatever. . . ALAN ALDA CELEBRATED HIS BIRTHDAY January 28th! He is now 69. When I told my mom, she said that now he was old (she used to watch MASH when she was my age). Well, that made me angry, so I yelled. . . and ranted. . . and raved. . . and then I was grounded. Another reason I couldn't update.
Quote of the Day:
Frank: It's nice to be nice to the nice.
Disclaimer: Kitty Kat-chan does not own MASH, or anything related. If she did, she'd be busy making this fic into a movie.
Warnings and Other Crap: This chapter describes Vicky's appearance a little more, and it kinda has a little sappy (not romantically sappy, just family-bonding kinda sappy) moment between Vicky and Klinger. Also, more facts about the death of Vicky's parents are brought up. And you find out why Trapper and Hawkeye stick to making martinis. . .
What The Hell Is Going On?
Chapter 15
Thou Shalt Not Set One's Kitchen On Fire
"Two. . . and. . . a half. . . weeks?" I whispered hoarsely. Hawkeye and Trapper were smiling large, cheshire cat smiles. I hated them.
"Two and a half weeks with your wonderful family," Hawkeye said, wrapping one arm around me.
"Yep! Think of all the fun and excitement you're gonna have with us!" Trapper added, wrapping his arm around me as well.
I made a noise in my throat (it sounded kinda like "Nuh!").
"That's the spirit!" Hawkeye crowed. "But I have tests I've gotta study for," I whimpered pathetically. "We'll help you study!" Trapper declared.
I felt my eyes bulge out. "Say what?" was all I could manage out.
"He said, 'we'll help,'" the dark haired surgeon informed. For about five seconds, I was frozen. Then I began to bawl like an overgrown baby.
"I think she's ecstatic!" Trapper shouted to Hawkeye happily over my wails. "She just can't wait to spend time with her two favorite uncles!" Hawk shouted back. I just continued to cry.
"Alright Pierce, why did you call us down here?" Margaret demanded half and hour later.
Everybody (even Frank, who was surprisingly not whimpering like a baby, but actually giving us death glares—he was bandaged up a lot, and would make weird funny noises in his throat whenever moved one of his limbs in a certain angle) was sitting down in the living room, because Hawkeye called a meeting.
"Of course, my dear Hot Lips. As all of you know, Granny and Pop have gone away for two and a half weeks," he paused, then continued. "That means—" he placed a hand on my head (I was still bawling)"—that little Vicky here is our responsibility during that time. We are, after all, her family."
"Wah-ha-ha-ha-ha. . ." I sobbed.
"And," Trapper said, picking up for Hawkeye, "it has come to our attention that Victoria has several tests for school coming up. As her guardians, it's only right that we make sure she studies for them."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!" I wailed.
"I'm not helping that little brat with anything!" Frank shouted. "That's right!" Margaret agreed. "How dare you degenerates ask us such a question after you tricked Frank into marrying that-that-" she couldn't seem to finish her sentence.
"But Major," Trapper chided, his voice sickeningly sweet, "this is your niece. You have to help her."
"She's no niece of mine!" Hot Lips shouted. Had I not been so miserable, I would've agreed.
"While you're here in 2004, she is," Hawkeye replied. He smirked. Trapper smirked. Margaret glared. Frank glared. I sobbed.
"What kind of tests does she need to study for, if I may ask?" Father Mulchay asked. "You may ask," Hawkeye replied. "And I believe she said she needed to study for an English test, a History test, a Home Ec. test, and a P.E exam."
"So, here's what it comes down to: four of you need to be her. . . counselors in a subject that she needs to study for," Trapper announced. I began to hit the floor weakly with my fist as I sobbed harder.
"Step up, pick a subject, and we'll start studying tomorrow," Trapper shouted over my wails.
I quieted just a bit to hear what they would say.
"Uh, I could help her with English," Radar said. 'Well, that won't be so bad. . .' I thought to myself.
"And I'd be delighted to teach her History," Mulchay piped up. 'Alright, maybe this will be ok after all,' I thought, feeling better.
"Alright, that's good," Trapper said, nodding. "But what about P.E and Home Ec.?"
"Oh, I could teach her P.E," Frank said, smiling evilly. I was silent for about three seconds. Then. . .
"NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! HELP ME! LEMME OUTTA HERE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE! MOOOOMMY!" I wailed to the top of my lungs. I jumped to my feet and tried to make a run for the door.
Unfortunately, Hawkeye grabbed my ankle, so I didn't get very far. I landed, the air being knocked out of my body as I did so.
"Not so fast, missy," he said. I sobbed.
"Sorry Frank, but I don't think you're qualified for that," Trapper said dryly. Then he and Hawkeye whispered to each other quietly for a moment. I didn't even try to listen to what they were saying; I just wailed.
"Alright, we'll worry about the other two later," Hawkeye announced. "Right now, let's just rest up and get ready for tomorrow."
"This suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks," I sobbed.
About two hours later (after I finally managed to calm down), I found myself in the livingroom with a blanket wrapped around me. I blinked and sat up. I must've fallen asleep, or blacked out, or something. . .
I stood up, folded the blanket and threw it on the couch, then stretched. My eye caught sight of the mirror over by the door, and I walked over to it. I nearly gagged when I saw my reflection. My face was red and puffy, my eyes were bloodshot, and my hair was sticking out in all directions out of my braid, making it look as if I had just jumped out of a tornado.
I ran to the bathroom and fixed myself up the best I could, meaning I washed my face and unbraided my hair before wetting it down. I ran my fingers through my hair; a pitiful attempt at untangling it, if I do say so myself. Then I took the opportunity to study myself in the mirror.
It's true that most people hate the way they look—hell, I read in a magazine that Halle Berry thinks she's ugly beyond all reason.
I leaned forward to get a better look.
My face is small and thin, like the rest of my body, making it look like I'm a) malnourished and b) like I'm a little kid. My eyes almost always have dark circles around them, making my face look even more like a skeleton. My eyes are kinda big, but not so big that I always look like I'm scared or surprised all the time. My nose is the only good feature I have on my face; it's one of those button noses.
My mouth is small, kinda oval shaped. It doesn't really seem to go well with the rest of my face. My teeth are mostly straight, but my dentist tells me I should get braces. No, I'm definetly FAR from good-looking. I sighed before glaring at my reflection. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, then stepped outside.
The first thing that greeted my ears was shouting. Lots of frantic shouting. And it was coming from the kitchen area. 'Oh God,' I thought miserably before running towards the kitchen. And do you know what I found? No, of course you don't, because (once again) you weren't there. I found Henry, Radar, Klinger, Frank, Margaret, and Father Mulchay all crowded around the kitchen door, pounding on it and shouting.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked angrily, stomping up to everyone. "Pierce and McIntyre have decided to play chef and have locked themselves in!" Henry shouted over the noise. I groaned and slapped my forehead. Could this day possibly get any worse? With the luck I was having, the house would burn to the ground in the next two hours.
"Has anyone tried the outside door?" I asked loudly. My 'family' stopped what they were doing and stared. "There's an outside door to the kitchen?" Klinger asked. I threw my hands up. "DUH!" I shouted angrily. "I knew that," Frank said quickly. "In fact, I was just about to tell everyone we should—"
"Frank, shut up," I snapped. Then I pointed to Radar.
"Radar, come with me. We're gonna perform a surprise attack!" I said. My 'cousin's' face showed both surprise and fear. "Me? Why me?" he cried.
"'Cause the two would-be chefs like you," I said as I turned to leave. I only walked five steps before I heard him start to complain.
"Oh no, I'm not going. You can't make me, I won't do it, no sir—"
I grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door.
"Don't say anything," I hissed to Radar as we leaned back against the side of the house. "Why do I have to do this?" he hissed back. "Why not get Klinger or Colonel Henry?"
"Klinger would complain about ruining his dress and Henry would probably try to kill Trap and Hawk," I replied reasonably. "Then what about Major Houlihan and Major Burns?" the corporal continued. I rolled my eyes. "Radar, I think we both know the answer to that," I answered back dryly.
"But—"
"Hush, Radar! Now c'mon, lets go before the two would-be chefs discover there's another door—if they haven't already, that is."
So, we shimmied along the side of the house, careful not to attract the attention of the two surgeons as we neared the kitchen window.
Once we reached said window, we peeked in.
The two men were huddling in front of the oven, which had black smoke coming out. Something was bubbling in the pots on the stove, and there was flour everywhere.
Radar and I exchanged startled looks before ducking under the window and edging towards the door.
Once we reached the door, I grasped the handle and (still crouching) I twisted the doorknob carefully so that it made no noise. It was unlocked!
Relieved, I released the breath I had been holding. I gently twisted the knob and opened the door wide enough so that Radar could sneak on through. He hesitated, but went through into the kitchen. I followed, then closed and locked the door.
Radar and I both stood up, and I glared at my two 'uncles' backs.
"What the hell do you two think you're doing!" I shouted. They both jumped and whirled around.
"Hey, it's Vicky and Radar," Trapper said, relaxing as though he had been expecting to see the FBI.
"Damn straight it's me and Radar," I growled. "What are you two doing? What the hell is in there!" I stalked over to the oven, pulled some mittens on, opened the oven and pulled out a tray of. . . black stuff.
"Aw, our cookies are ruined!" Trapper whined from behind me as he peered over my shoulder to look at the substance in the tray.
"Cookies!" I choked, staring up at him as if he was nuts. "Yep," Hawkeye said, coming up behind me on my other side. "Chocolate chip. Guess it didn't work out, though."
"Geeze, sirs, you may be great surgeons but you sure are lousy cooks," Radar piped up.
"Thank you comrade," Hawkeye replied sarcastically. I shook my head.
"What are you guys up to?" I sighed.
"Well, since Granny is the one who usually cooks—" Hawk began. "—and no one else in this house know how to cook—" Trapper added. "—and since we know how to make martinis, which is about as close as close as you can get to cooking in a MASH unit—" Hawkeye continued.
"—We decided to cook dinner tonight!" they finished together.
I snapped.
"ARE YOU MAD!" I roared. "DO EITHER OF YOU REALIZE HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS! YOU GUYS CAN'T COOK! YOU'D BURN A SALAD!"
"Aw, how hard can it be? Women do it all the time," Trap replied, as if it was the most reasonably response in the universe.
My left eye twitched.
And then the stove was set on fire.
I dunno what happened—one minute, the medium-sized pot was perfectly fine (save for the fact that something greenish-brown was bubbling in it), and the next it was a roaring inferno.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" the four of us screamed. All of us started freaking out—only I think I freaked out more than the others.
"AH! 911! PLICE! SENIOR AUTHORITEES! MOMMA! CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT! CALL AN AMBULANCE! WAAAAAH, I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!" I screamed as the four of us ran around in circles, flapping our arms frantically.
The pounding and shouting from the hallway stopped for about five seconds, then stared up again with a gusto.
"PIERCE! MCINTYRE! RADAR! VICTORIA! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THERE!"
"Is everything alright?"
"CORPORAL, CAPTAINS, GIRL, GET OUT OF THERE THIS MINUTE!"
"What Major Houlihan said!"
"What's going on in there!"
We replied with this:
"FIRE!"
And then we reassumed our original running, flapping, and freaking out. That's when I caught sight of the fire extinguisher.
"Hang on everybody!" I shouted as I grabbed it from it's place beside the door.
I frantically tried to remember how my science teacher showed us all in her class how to use one of these things.
"Pull the chord out. . ." I muttered under my breath as I followed through with the directions. "Er, aim at fire. . . and squeeze the hose—!"
Suddenly, a stream of white foam shot out from the hose and splattered all along the walls. I let out a yelp and quickly re-aimed it at the fire.
Unfortunately, I hadn't realized that the fire had grown—a LOT.
"OH SHIT!" I yelped as I frantically sprayed the growing inferno.
"VICKY, DON'T BE A HERO!" Trapper shouted from behind me.
Suddenly, my eyes began to sting pretty badly. I squeezed them shut as somebody from behind wrapped their arms around me.
I heard something slam, and the hose slipped from my hands. This was quickly followed by a bunch of shouts coming from the door that led to the hallway.
15 seconds later, everything was silent. I cracked my eyes open.
There stood Henry, Klinger, Father Mulchay, and the two majors, all covered from head-to-toe in white goop.
I then realized there was laughter behind me, and I looked up to see who held me.
It was Hawkeye.
I abruptly stood up, embarrassed. I looked around. The fire was gone. . . but it left a big black mess in its place.
"Pierce," Henry suddenly growled, spraying white foam onto the floor. "McIntyre. Radar. VICTORIA. . ."
The laughter ceased; Henry was NOT happy.
"Yeah, Colonel?" Radar said in a small voice.
Splat, splat.
Gobs of foam fell from Henry's head. "You guys are in so much trouble!" he shouted. We whimpered.
"It's not fair," I complained to Klinger outside on the porch that night after supper (Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches). "I didn't mean to spray you guys. My eyes burned and the hose slipped!"
"I know kid," Klinger soothed as he straightened the material on his mannequin.
Earlier today (while I was at school), Klinger had taken himself on a little field trip up to the attic. There, he found cloth, sewing supplies, and the mannequin. However, Hot Lips and Ferret Face absolutely forbid him to make any dresses in the house. So he had to make them outside on the porch. I decided to join him after finally completing the long list of chores I was forced to do because of the cooking incident.
"I mean, it wasn't that funny—ok, it was pretty hilarious—but that doesn't mean I'd do it on purpose!" I ranted, resting my head in my hands as I pushed the rocking chair I was sitting in back and forth with my feet.
"Well, I don't blame you," Klinger said. "Thanks," I muttered. "Neither does Father Mulchay," the 'crazy' man continued. I grinned up at him half-heartedly.
Then I looked up at the night sky and stared at the stars.
In our little town, everyone goes to bed at exactly 10:00 PM. At 10:00, all the lights in the town, from the brightest streetlight down to the last lamp in a Dollar Store, was turned off. Since our town is basically in the middle of nowhere, miles away from any other human civilization, there's no other light around to black out the stores.
At that time, it was around 11:00. And I swear, at that moment, I really believed that there was a God. It was that beautiful. You would never believe there could be so many stars.
"That really is beautiful," Klinger said from behind. I looked over my shoulder at him, then smiled and nodded. "Yeah," I replied as I turned my head back around to look back up at the night sky. "If there's one good thing about living in a town placed in the middle of nowhere, it's the night sky. I can't imagine living anywhere else."
The two of us fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the cool wind blowing upon our faces and the beautiful sky that looked like a dark, dark blue blanket sprinkled with millions and millions of tiny diamonds . . . . Gee, that was philosophical, wasn't it?
Anyway, as the two of us sat there together, I was reminded of the many times sat out on this porch with my parents when I was little. Those were great times, especially in the fall, when the leaves were gold, and red, and brown, and orange. . . and the smell of baking pie was heavy around the house, wafting from the open kitchen window. Jesus, I'm being seriously philosophical today. . .
A huge lump rose in my throat as my heart ached. I missed my parents. I really did. It hurt every time I thought about them—hell, it still does—and I was always reminded of how I never told them I loved them before they left for that freaking drive. But that's not what made me feel so guilty. . . not really, anyway.
"You ok kid?"
Startled, I looked back sharply to Klinger. "Huh?" I asked stupidly. Klinger stared at me in confusion and concern. "You're crying, Vicky! What's wrong, are you ok!"
I brushed the back of my hand over my eye, then lowered my arm and stared at it. It glistened. Shit, I was crying! I stared at the back of my hand for about five seconds before speaking.
"I'm fine!" I said loudly, frantically drying my eyes with my sleeves. "The sky. . . Is just so beautiful, and I was filled with such emotion. . . I mean, it really moved me you know—"
But of course, Klinger didn't believe me in the slightest. He didn't press the subject however, and instead fished a handkerchief out of his purse and handed it to me (sighing, mind you, because I was wiping my running nose with my sleeve as well).
"Here, use this. It's more absorbent than your shirt."
I smiled weakly, and wiped my face, then blew my nose (rather loudly, I admit with embarrassment).
Again, the two of us fell into silence, though this time it was rather awkward. Finally, however, Klinger decided to speak.
"So. . . what's wrong?"
I shrugged, fidgeting with the handkerchief. But then I looked over at him. "Am I really that easy to read?" I asked softly. Klinger nodded, grinning in a sideways sort of way. "Like a book," he replied. I sighed.
"Well. . . I guess I just remembered how my dad and I would sit out here and look up at the stars," I explained. "Did your father make dresses on a mannequin, too?" the corporal asked. I couldn't help but laugh. "No," I giggled. "But he would carve on a piece of wood sometimes."
I blew my nose again, then decided that I might as well talk. 'Who knows,' I thought to myself. 'It might make me feel better. . .'
"Anyways, we'd sit out there together, and he'd point out constellations to me, and he'd tell me stories about his childhood, as well as ghost stories and tall tales." I sniffed loudly, then continued.
"Sometimes, Mom would come out as well. She'd sit me in her lap, and I'd bury my face in her chest and I'd feel like nothing could hurt me. I felt so happy then. . ." I trailed off, aware that my voice had a distinct tone of longing in it.
I gave another sniff. We sat there in silence for awhile. I started enjoying it again, but then Margaret came and started ranting about how I should be in bed, it's a school night, yadda yadda yadda. So I stood up, and then did something that still makes my face burn, even though it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I hugged Klinger.
I know, I know, it doesn't seem like such a big deal. I mean, it would've been worse if I'd of kissed him. But still! I'm not one of those touchy-feely kinda girls. . . At least I wasn't at the time—argh, it's complicated, ok! ANYWAY, I hugged Klinger, then ran back inside and up to my room as soon as I realized what the hell I just did.
And you know how sometimes, after something bad happens, you think things just can't get any worse? Well, that's what I thought.
And the next day, things got a hell of a lot worse.
Um. . . hehe. . . Well, that's it! Um, I know this is seriously late—I mean the little intro and stuff I posted Saturday of last week—but well, I've been. . . occupied. – hides Jak 2 behind back guiltily- So. . . Um, review please! Stay in school! And try to stay away from foreign drugs!
And please, say a little prayer (or wish on a star, or something, if you're not the religous type) that I pass the year with good grades, so that I may continue to write wonderful chapters! See ya!
Kitty Kat-chan