Note: This is my first ever MASH fic…feel free to flame me if you reckon it's worthy, but keep that in mind… also that I know this is extremely out of character for Frank, and that this is more a Charles-esque course of action, but I liked Frank better.
Ideas always needed, comments always welcome, booze always appreciated.
Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox owns all these marvellous characters and their marvellous personalities!
Part 1 (They're not chapters, they're parts. Too short to be chapters.)
"Attention, all personnel. We interrupt your sleep to bring you incoming wounded in twenty minutes. Repeat, incoming wounded in twenty minutes. The war makes no apologies for disruption of normal programming."
Damn right it didn't. The war couldn't have cared less what we were doing or planning on doing, where we were going, what we were thinking. It kept going on its merry way and to hell with anyone who tried to stop it. The war was like a huge steamroller, it kept on trundling along, flattening everything in its –
"Frank, if you don't get up, I'm afraid I'll have to call in the reinforcements. I'm sure Klinger would be happy to help."
Dammit. Pierce. "Pierce! How dare you speak like that to a superior officer! I don't need Klinger to get me out of bed!"
"Oh, I do believe I already have. Haven't I, Trapper?"
"Yep. Too late, Frank."
"Besides, I thought you enjoyed being woken by wounded! Well? Are you getting out of bed or not?"
"Leave him Hawkeye, if he doesn't get up then Margaret will have to convince him. We better get to Pre-Op."
SLAM. Could they never learn how to close doors properly? I swear Pierce and McIntyre will be the end of me. Those two get on my nerves every single day, without fail. I'm always the butt of their jokes, the one they laugh at. Everyone laughs at me. Granted, I'd laugh at me too if it wasn't me we were laughing at (I sound like that fool of a Henry Blake)… If only Pierce could be civil… but that couldn't happen. This was Pierce we were talking about!
I hauled myself out of bed and hurried to Pre-Op. The last thing I needed was Pierce coming back and dragging me out.
It was 12pm, 9 hours of solid surgery. It was by no means our longest stretch in the O.R., but it was one of the most grating. We worked as we always did – Pierce and McIntyre cracking jokes, Margaret and I working together efficiently and Blake getting on with it.
"Hey, Frank."
"What is it, McIntyre?"
"You realise what number patient you're on?"
"As long as that number doesn't rise I don't care. Now be quiet and concentrate. Sponge."
"Sponge."
"It's number 13… and the number 13 is unlucky…"
"Trapper, that's a terrible thing to say, even to Frank."
"McIntyre! How could you say such a thing? That's despicable, now cut it out." I figured I might as well stick up for myself.
"Oh, come on Hawkeye, what do you care? It's Frank we're talking about. Suction."
"Suction."
"Pierce, McIntyre, get on with the surgery."
"Yes, Mr. Henry Colonel Sir."
"But really, Hawkeye, since when have you-"
"Since when have I cared about Frank? Since thirty seconds ago. What does it matter?"
"Hawkeye, this is Frank. You're not sticking up for him, are you?"
Sticking up for me! What the hell is he doing?
"Trapper, shut it. I need to concentrate."
"Good idea. You lot quieten down, all right?"
"Yes, Mr. Henry Colonel Sir."
"Well, are you?"
"So what if I am?" Pierce declared, raising his voice.
A slightly eerie silence filled the room.
"So what if I am sticking up for him? Frank and I may mutually hate each other but we need to get on in the O.R. Trapper, you are making my life a lot harder. Right now, I need you to put a sock in it."
"But Hawkeye-"
"Trapper, cut it out!"
Pierce's voice cut through the air like a freshly sharpened scalpel. The O.R. went deathly quiet.
Oh boy, bad jokes "deathly quiet," what was I thinking… hehe, sorry I had to keep you hanging. Brilliant it ain't, but it keeps me occupied. Reviews always welcome, especially when I'm just starting out. Ideas always wanted, flames always appreciated. Part 2 next!