Title: Sick and Dying

Characters: Maxwell Klinger, Sherman Potter, Hawkeye Pierce, Trapper McIntyre
Timeline: Sometime shortly after Colonel Potter gains control of the MASH 4077 unit.

Disclaimer: MASH and its characters do not belong to me. They belong to Fox and all those involved in bringing this wonderful show to life. I'm merely borrowing them for a quick drabble.

Summary: Is Klinger up to his old tricks again?

Author's Notes: Written for a drabble prompt of "poorly sick and dying" Klinger. It's also my first attempt at a MASH fanfic, so please pardon. And yes, I am aware that Trapper had left by the point of Colonel Potter. It was a momentary lapse in memory while writing this that I am too lazy to change.

He stumbled into camp, collapsing on the ground in a dramatic heap. His floral patterned dress was ragged and stained with dirt and blood. The handbag landed a few inches away and as he gasped for breath, Corporal Maxwell Klinger of the MASH 4077 tried to reach for it.

"O cruel world," he lamented after a second unsuccessful attempt. It's a loud lament, drawing the attention of a few nearby nurses and one rather shocked Rader O'Reilly. "Not even allowing me one last look at my homeland. What did my people do to – sir!"

"Well I'll be a horses' patoot. Klinger, what happened?"

"Looks like Klinger got up close and personal with someone who didn't like that certain shade of pink."

"And here I always thought it flattered him," Trapper McIntyre chimed in, coming up beside Hawkeye Pierce and Colonel Sherman Potter. He shrugged, grinning at the other two. "Then again, my wife always did say I didn't know a skirt from a pantyhose."

"Sirs, I'm dying! Shot fatally in the abdomen," Klinger insists as he pushed his body around in the dirt, landing back down on the ground and then clutching his side in agony. "It's mortal and I don't I'll live to see another Korean sunrise. Or wear that pink frock that arrived the other day.

"Someone get Father Mulcahy! Fast!"

He clutched at his side again and moaned loudly. "O cruel world." Then, there's a pause as he looks up at the three doctors. "Spare a dying man his last wish and send me back to Toledo, Ohio? Please, sir, my will want my body."

"Now hold on a gosh darn minute, Klinger. How do we know this isn't another one of those crazy attempts of yours?"

"So you admit I'm crazy?" Despite his pain, Klinger's face lights up. "O spirits of my ancestors, why do you keep insisting on treating me so? A noble discharge of a Section 8 so close in reach when I'm poorly sick and dying! It's not fair!"

"You know what I think isn't fair, Klinger?" Hawkeye looked at him from his kneeling position beside the man. He held up two fingers, sticky with a red substance and licks them. "You using up the camp's supply of ketchup. Now we're not going to have anything to disguise tomorrow's dinner with. Get up Klinger. You're going to live to see tomorrow after all."

For the first time, Klinger actually looked grief stricken. "But sirs! I really am dying. I was shot by a North Korean on my way back from picking flowers! Would I really ruin such a fine garment?"

As Klinger held up the torn dress to emphasize his point, Colonel Potter shook his head. "Sometimes I don't know what to put past you, Corporal. Do what the doctor says."

"But sir!"

"Now, Corporal!"

He eyed each of the men for a long moment – Colonel Potter's stern stare, Hawkeye's smirk, and Trapper's bemused face – before finally sighing. Without another word, Klinger stood, adjusted his dress and shawl, and picked up his purse.

Then, as Hawkeye and Trapper began to laugh at a very frightened Rader, he marched into the shower tent to clean up.