Welcome to Part 6. I apologise if this part is a bit shoddy. Yes, very OOC here, I realise that. The next chapter will be the last. If anyone's wondering where Hallucinogens has gone, it shall be up eventually. I can't give a timeframe at the moment, though. Have faith, and you shall be rewarded. :D
Now, on to the story.
Part 6"Morning, Frank."
I huffed. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Actually, I wouldn't mind knowing, nor would anyone else in this godforsaken place. You seem to forget, Frank, that no one has actually gotten out of you why you did such a stupid thing."
"Hmph. Did Colonel Blake send you in?"
"No, I sent myself here. I do believe I am still entitled to enter my own tent." He poured himself a drink. It seemed to be his ritual for entering this mess; walk in; pour drink; sip drink; sit on chair/bed; enjoy drink. After this ritual was completed, regular thought could resume.
The silence permeated the tent for a number of minutes. We were both used to this, this all-pervading silence. I would normally sit reading a book or writing a letter, minding my own business, and Pierce would sleep, loudly play poker with McIntyre or be too absorbed in his drink to carry out a coherent conversation. In any case, he'd never talk to me. After all, I was Major Frank Burns, the bane of the camp's existence and the one person people avoided most. However, I was soon to be proved wrong.
"Frank?"
"Pierce?"
He sighed. "My name is Hawkeye, Frank. Hawkeye. Can we say that? Hawk-"
"Pierce, I am perfectly capable of… oh, what's the bloody use. Hawkeye, then."
The awkward silence continued…
"You know what, Frank? I don't know what to say to you. I honestly don't know. I mean, 95 of the time you're a regular-army pompous twit whom I barely care about. You rant and rave and carry on a right treat. But the other 5 - i.e. yesterday – you turn somewhat bearable. That and the time the sniper kept shooting at camp and you were too scared shitless to be such a pain in the arse.
"I'd always thought I could rely on you. I could always rely on you to be in O.R. when you were needed. I could always rely on you following army discipline, for better or worse. I could always rely on you to be great fodder for the latest practical joke Trapper and I dreamed up. I thought I had you all worked out, Frank. I was wrong."
Hawkeye paused, struggling to find the words to match his thoughts and feelings. He ran his hands through his hair for what seemed like the millionth time. I kept silent, knowing anything I said would likely inflame the man's temper.
"Then again, I should have seen it all coming. This…this petulant, childish tantrum you threw, the way you snapped at Trapper. The way you stomped off in a huff and left us wondering what we all did, or didn't as the case may be. The way you come storming back as if you've done nothing wrong."
An eerie silence filled the tent, the likes of which neither of us had heard before.
"God…" He seemed disgusted by his own words. "What the hell am I saying? I need another drink." He rose and promptly fixed himself another martini. "I mean…" He counted on his fingers. "I am speaking in a civil tongue! I am remaining calm and not breaking anything! I am having a conversation with Frank Burns and I haven't made fun of him once! ONCE, DAMMIT!" The martini was sat next to his cot.
Actually, he had, but…
Hawkeye looked over at me. "Did you touch that still?"
"No! Of course not? Why would I touch your foul, disgusting paintstripper factory?"
"I don't know, Frank. As I said, I thought I had you all figured out. We all did. You've gone completely haywire these last couple of days… who knows…"
We continued to sit in uncomfortable silence.
"Haw…Hawkeye?"
"Yes, Frank?"
"Was…was any-anybody wo-worried about m-me?"
Hawkeye's initial reaction was to consider it a ridiculous question, but for once his head worked before his mouth. "Margaret, for obvious reasons; Henry, because he had to; erm…" he trailed off. "I think that's it. Trapper was overjoyed, but that was before he started thinking and he was crapping on a right treat about how he'd made you run off."
"But he did!" I cried, indignant.
"Whatever, Frank. In any case, he kept on and on and on until I sent him to a nurse to shut him up."
"What an indecent way to quieten the man."
"It works."
A pause.
"What about you, Hawkeye?"
Hawkeye seemed surprised that I actually used his nickname; I only ever referred to him as 'Pierce' or 'that degenerate' and certainly not in a remotely friendly fashion. He didn't comment on that, however. He put his head in his hands before looking up.
"Yeah, I suppose I did."
"What, missed me?" I couldn't help thinking back to when he once tried to fake insanity to get R/R in Tokyo. I must admit, he did an excellent job; Klinger could do worse than take a leaf out of his book. I remember McIntyre telling me that Hawkeye was talking about what a great friend I was and I replied, "He has flipped." I couldn't help thinking, once again, along those lines.
"You think I'm nuts, don't you?"
"I'd be lying if I said no."
A pause.
"Did Colonel Blake tell you to say all that?"
I realised halfway through the sentence that it was one I should not have asked. He rose to his feet, anger in his eyes, anger that one would only ever see from Hawkeye Pierce.
Shit.
"WHAT!" He stood staring at me with his jaw scraping the floor. "I…I tell you what I think, I word it as nicely as I know how, I try to be courteous and polite and friendly… and you turn around and accuse me of merely saying what Henry told me to say!" He slowly walked towards me, speaking in a menacingly low voice. "Henry wouldn't say what I just said if his arse was on fire. Henry wouldn't go to the trouble of saying what I said. Even if you refuse to believe me, I spoke of my own accord."
"Hawk-eye," I began, speaking his name slowly. It would take me a while to get used to referring to him in such a friendly manner. "I-I didn't… I mean, you normally don't make speeches like that."
"Does Henry?"
"Well…"
"Exactly." He drained what was left of his martini.
"Attention, all personnel. Incoming wounded. Repeat, incoming wounded. All personnel report to surgery."
We both got up. "Well, that ends our lovely little conversation; now let's face reality, shall we?" He turned to me and smirked, his words carrying that hardened edge. "Come along, Frank."
Though I detested being spoken to in such a demeaning manner, the point was too trivial to bother arguing. We both stepped out of the tent and ran to the waiting choppers.
……ooooooOOOOOOoooooo……
Part 7 (the next) will be the last, so if you have any really good ideas for this story, don't hesitate to make them known:D Alternatively, feel free to flame your little hearts out. Whichever you prefer.