Author's Note: I'm sort of new to the MASH fandom and trying my best to keep the characters fairly in character. I'm open to suggestions on how to improve my portrayal of canon characters in my fanfics.
Also, the character narrating "Sincere Things" is Staff Sergeant Jude M. Hargrave. While I may not own anyone thatappeared up in the show, I do own him. And now, onto the fic.
Sincere Things
He doesn't look at me when he talks. Sometimes he stares at the floor or at his feet, or sometimes at another patient entirely, but I know he's talking to me. He sits right at the edge of the bed, just fidgeting as he talks. Even when he's quiet he fidgets. I make him nervous, I can tell. Its part of why he doesn't look at me. I don't blame him for it, not anymore. I used to blame him, of course. I told myself that he was being a harsh judge, that he was too young to understand what was going on.
I don't know how long ago that was, but now that I look back at myself, I can understand exactly why the corporal can't stare at me. Why he can't look me square in the eyes. Sometimes I wish he would, but I know that would be asking too much of him. If he had the courage to look at me. . . no, its not courage. It isn't strength, either. I'd say the stomach. He would look at me.
The few times he does talk to me he's always so nervous. When I see him around the doctors and nurses, he seems so much more confident, and that is saying something - seeing as if I hadn't known how he acted around me, I would have called his friendship with the people here nervous and shaky. He never calls me by my first name, no matter how many times I've asked him to do it.
I like to think that we're friends. Both of us are NCO. We had started conversation from there. That was the first time I met him, when he could look at me. (Even when he did, he winced and cowered - I don't know as to why.) We talked about animals, family, plans for our lives. When he warmed up, he was a wonderful person to be around, and I could see why the doctors had taken such a shine to this kid. You couldn't hate him or have any ill thoughts towards him. I know I can't, no matter how much I try to be angry at him for how he acts to me. In the end, I only end up being angry at myself for trying to accuse him of doing this to me on purpose.
When I was able to move, he offered to show me around camp. He was so enthusiastic and energetic in his descriptions. We were comfortable around each other then. Even if he didn't call me by my first name, he called me by my last name instead of by my rank - or by 'sir' - like he does now. Sometimes I wish he'd just say it once. Just once.
I blame myself for how he is around me now. He still wants to be friends, otherwise he wouldn't have come to see me, but he's just scared. I wish I could take back what happened. I didn't hurt him physically, but I suppose what I did damaged him in other ways. I didn't even want to hurt him. Looking back, I don't even know what I was thinking. Maybe it was just the fact that there was someone there who made me feel comfortable, welcome, wanted. You don't find much of that in the army, at least not in the unit I'm in.
I wasn't ready to be shipped back, according to one of the doctors, but they had advised me to start using my leg, because I'd be back soon. I took whatever opportunity that came to walk with him. I hobbled across the camp and he eagerly walked next to me, ready to . . . I'd say catch, but if I had fallen, we probably both would have hit the dirt.
We were in the supply tent, chatting for a while. He was checking over something, I don't remember what it was now, and I had tagged along. We were totally alone in there. I approached him, and put my hand on his shoulder, turning him around. I stared him in the eyes, past those dingy glasses of his. I pressed him against one of the walls of supplies and kissed him.
Its not that I love him. I don't, not in that way. Men aren't supposed to love each other like that. But he was the first person in a long time who had shown me compassion and had tried to become my friend without regard for my rank. He honestly wanted to know me. And what do I do to return the friendship he was offering? I act like a homosexual. I kiss him without any regard for what he wanted.
He struggled and I didn't let him go. I continued kissing, though I had moved on to his neck. In part, I'm glad for what he did next. He kicked me in the leg, almost right on where I had been shot. I reeled from the pain and he ran. I think I stayed in the supply tent for a few hours, wondering what exactly I was thinking and why I had to do it to him.
He's still sitting on the edge of the bed. I'm wounded again and its the only reason I'm here. I couldn't bear coming back of my own free will after what I did. I lightly reach out for his hand, holding it, squeezing it just a bit. To be truthful, I'm scared.
"Corporal. . ." I wince at the rank and my own eagerness to call him such. "Radar." I correct myself. This isn't just a corporal I'm trying to make amends to.
He slowly pulls his hand out of mine. I guess he doesn't want to be touched by me. If I were in his position, I wouldn't want to be touched by me either. "Yes, Sergeant?"
I lean forward slightly, ducking my head and trying to get into his line of sight. "I'm sorry." Those two words are the most sincerest things I have ever had the chance to utter in my life.
"We all make mistakes, sir."
He doesn't look at me when he talks. I suppose its all the same anymore.
