A/N: This is my first MASH fic, and I hope that you all enjoy this. This is just the prologue in first person point of view, the other chapters will be in third person just to clarify before starting. And it must be painfully obvious that I do not own MASH, it's storylines and or characters.
Nervous
Sometimes its really easy to confuse myself; I know the war is over, and I'm back home and safe but whenever somebody knocks on the door I get instantaneously nervous. Like there's actually a reason to be constantly on alert in Crabapple Cove. I especially don't like knowing that someone is going to come to my home, but no idea what time they are going to show up. Like repair men that I called myself even, just waiting around to let some man that I've met only once before and talked to over the phone gets my nerves into a bundle.
I pace, and I admit it. Going from my desk from whatever letter I'm attempting to write to the door because I hear the neighbor's dog bark. Jack, the neighbor's dog, barks at everybody and anybody including people coming to my house, so when he barks I jump up and go to the door expecting to see someone there. And when I go back to my desk I have to keep myself from getting so riled up that I vomit what little breakfast I was able to force down. These trips to and from the desk to door is enough exercise not only for my heart, but for the day. After so and so leaves I just try and relax myself.
Though I suppose that I do like to get visitors that tell me a general idea down to the hour of when they'll get here. Sure I'll still pace around like an expectant father, but at least I know who and or what to expect.
It seems Korea took more out of me than I imagined, but I'm alright with that because I got a lot out of Korea too, besides somewhat crippling phobias and devastating memories. And one just so happened to show up unexpectedly at my doorstep, looking no different than he did when he left my side nearly five years ago.
In my mind I was laughing when I looked nervously out my front window and saw Trapper John MacIntyre standing with his knuckles against my door; but the look on my face was anything but amusement, or so it must have been when I opened the door and nearly vomited right onto what seemed to be new patent leather shoes. That bit usually comes later, but I seemingly can jump around the steps of my anxiety at the drop of a hat. Good thing I hadn't eaten anything in the moments before I entered the den and then heard the tell-tale knock (I wish I had heard the tell-tale heart instead).
"Hey there Hawkeye," came his gruff Boston influenced voice. I couldn't get myself to say anything just yet, so I reached out and pulled him inside; hoping beyond all hopes that I could open my mouth without making a complete fool of myself, or confusing myself. This shouldn't be so confusing; he's an old friend I tell myself, and has every right to come see me. But I never gave him my address specifically and that just makes me wonder. Really, sometimes its easy for me to confuse myself.