And so we arrive at Part Three. It isn't brilliant, but go easy on me, alright:D

Note: I don't know Frank's wife's name, so tell me what it is if anyone knows. I made one up for storytelling purposes.

Just in case you've been living under a rock, I own none of this. That pleasure belongs to 20th Century Fox.

Part 3

So there I was, sitting in that Officer's Club, sipping a drink of some description Pierce pushed in front of me. I don't even know what it was. Reminded me of that… still… It's actually quite difficult to resist the temptation to call it "foul" because now I've drunk something from it and it was a lot better than I thought it would be.

Around the time I started poking the toothpick through the olive for the thirtieth time (that would make it a martini, eh?) my ears overheard a rather interesting conversation between that degenerate McIntyre and that… Pierce… (I can't call him degenerate now! What else am I going to call him?) Taking an interest, I managed to prick my ears so I could hear better…

"Pair."

"Yes! Full house."

"Dammit, Trapper, that's the third time this week! You're sending me broke!"

Aha. A poker game.

"Isn't that the point of poker? Better you lose to me than to Sidney."

Silence for a few seconds. Since I had my back turned, I couldn't see anything, but I could hear the shuffling of cards.

"All right, Hawkeye, you've got my attention. What's up?"

"The sky is up, Trapper, and the ground is down. You know that."

A sigh. Probably McIntyre.

"Come on Hawk, be serious. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong is all these poor kids being shot up in a war! What's wrong is that they're using guns to do it!"

(How else are they going to shoot them? With arrows?)

"What's wrong is the insane amount of work we have to do to keep these kids alive! And sometimes we can't do that!" I heard the scraping of a chair. Pierce must have stood up.

"All right, look, calm down Hawkeye. You've never gotten this worked up about, well, work before. There must be something behind it."

Another sigh, bigger this time. More chair scraping.

"You saw that kid, Private James Greenwood. He was only a small kid, looked even smaller than Radar."

McIntyre let out a soft, low whistle. As much as I thought the boy was a useless nincompoop O'Reilly was small… anyone smaller than that…

Pierce sniffled. (Get a hanky.) "He was riddled with bullets. I don't know how he managed to stay alive long enough for us to operate on him… I couldn't save him!" More sniffling. (Get a hanky already!)

"Hawkeye, losing one patient gets to us all. We can't save everybody. Some of them are beyond help when they get to us, like Pvt. Greenwood. You are a fantastic surgeon, Hawkeye. You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that. But you can't save all of them."

Urgh. Mush. Can't that degenerate McIntyre stop telling Pierce what he wants to hear? … On the other hand, that might explain his civility…

"I don't know, Trapper. I thought we could save him…"

"It won't do you any good to dwell on it, Hawkeye. Think about something different." I heard McIntyre get up to get another drink. He noticed me sitting at the bar, glum.

"Hey Frank, what's up your nose?"

I immediately tightened and pursed my lips. I didn't want McIntyre talking to me. "Nothing, McIntyre. I am fine."

"Aw, really, Frank? Come on, you've got a drink; you can't be that bad."

This incensed me. McIntyre had no idea what was going on! What would he know?

I stood up and pointed a finger in his face. "For your information, McIntyre, I am quite all right, and would be a lot better if you would leave me alone!" Drat it. Attention. Just what I didn't want.

I stormed out of the Officer's Club. Behind me, I heard Pierce yell at McIntyre, "Now look what you've done! He was all right before you bothered him!"

Pierce? Still caring?

The door of our tent opened almost by itself. Digging a glass out of my footlocker, I made my way to that still and poured myself a very large drink. Returning to my cot, something caught my eye. Of course! The letter I'd received earlier that day I hadn't had a chance to read fully; I'd only glanced at it. I grabbed it from underneath my pillow and started to read.

"Dear Frank,

Firstly, I hope you are well, and that this letter reaches you safely.

However, and though I dislike opening letters thusly there is no other way, I have a bone to pick with you.

I understand that your busy work as a surgeon in a war zone leaves very little time for comfort or pleasantries. I remain in adoration of your surgical skills and how you are able to continue your job while so far away from home.

Pah. Even she knew that I was a rubbish surgeon. I didn't fail two med schools for nothing.

"Nonetheless, I feel abandoned at your apparent reluctance to write letters home. Your last letter reached me four months ago and I have not heard from or of you since. Though we both know that we are not the closest of couples, and certainly not since you left for Korea, I feel that it would be only courteous to at least write me a small note reassuring me that you have not died or left me for another woman.

If only she knew about Hot Lips…

"I beg of you, Frank, please reply. I swear it would do our relationship wonders to resume regular communication and also put my heart at ease.

Yours truly,

Edith Burns"

I slowly put the letter down on my cot. I never knew how she felt about me… though that was probably due to my lack of letter-writing than anything else. I mean, we were never close, and I only really married her for her money… but at the end of the day, she was – and is – my wife. Something had to be done; but I was going to have another drink first.

Another drink? Frank, you're emulating Pierce! First you start having feelings, now you're drinking… where will it end?

Yay! It's finished! Boy, that took me ages to write. It's amazing how much you get done when your internet's screwed up… :D Please review! I badly need ideas for this story. Very, very BADLY.