Title - Give
Author - Spookysister7
Email address - - http/ - PG-13
Category - MASH- alt ending
Spoilers - Comrades in Arms; Y-116 and Y-117
Summary - What if the soldier hadn't been wounded?
"Let me tell you one thing, Mr. Squire. A woman don't live and never did live that's worth five thousand dollars." "Well, let me tell you something! You're a forgetful old fool. Any woman is worth anything that any man has to give. Anguish, ecstasy, faith, jealousy, love, hatred, life, or death. Don't you see that's the whole excuse for our existence? It's what makes the whole thing possible and tolerable. Well, when you get to my age, you'll learn better sense." -Pa and Alan Squire (Leslie Howard) - The Petrified Forest
Feedback - Please, oh please, oh please! I'm young, I'm stupid, I need help! Thanx! Post anywhere! Just keep my name and let me know.
Disclaimer -
BJ and Hot Lips are not mine
They aren't making me a dime
They belong to my man, Alan
And Fox, the company of talent
Hawkeye does not belong to me
But if he did, I'd be filled with glee
Mulcahy and Potter, don't forget Klinger
Alright, I'm done, I'll no longer linger
But just remember, morning glory
They're not mine, now read the story
MASH: Give
"Hide!" Pierce shouted, pulling up the thin mat that lay limply on the floor. Shoving Margaret under, Hawkeye ignored the pain in his leg and rolled under next to her. Silently, they lay camouflaged on the floor of the bombed out hut, waiting for the enemy soldier to come in. The shuffling of his boots on the packed dirt signaled the arrival of the North Korean. His gun jingled slightly with every step, and Hawkeye tensed as he grew closer to their ineffective hiding place. The telltale crunch signaled that their would-be captor stopped to take a sample of their morning repast, and Pierce relaxed momentarily. Margaret held her breath, terrified. Pierce's own panic was only squelched by a promise he had made to himself. A promise to keep Margaret safe, no matter what. He had already held her back, his leg stiff and unusable. She was in this situation because of him, so it was his responsibility to get her out safely. The soldier finished eating and turned around. His footsteps moved a few meters away, and Pierce chanced a whisper in Margaret's ear.
"If he finds us, you run." Hawkeye said, glancing towards the doorway visible behind them. Margaret frowned.
"What'll you do? You can't run! I'm not leaving you."
"I'll distract him, and you can get away. It's no use both of us getting caught. If it comes to it, run!" Pierce whispered vehemently. Margaret opened her mouth to respond, but didn't get the opportunity. The soldier's footsteps quickly grew closer, stopping just inches away from their hiding place. The gun cocked and the soldier screamed something at them. Pierce swallowed and nodded at Margaret. She shook her head. His lips stretched out to a thin line and he looked down at his hand. Three, two, one. Pierce threw the cover off. Kicking out with his good leg, he knocked the soldier down.
"Run!" He screamed as he struggled to stand. Margaret was torn. The soldier scrambled to his feet, and Pierce screamed at her once again, urging her on.
"Margaret, run!" She ran. There were the sounds of a struggle behind her, and, as she fought her way through the undergrowth, she heard a gunshot. Hawkeye screamed. Margaret froze, heart in her throat.
"Hawkeye." She whispered, aching to return and see how badly injured he was. The soldier came out of the hut and charged in her direction. Heart racing, Margaret took off like a shot, leaping over fallen logs and dodging trees. She fell, tripping over a root. Trying to stand, she winced. Her long blonde hair was stuck. Steeling herself, she yanked up, leaving a lock of hair behind. She stood and ran again, keeping an eye on the sun and her direction due south, hoping she could find help and lead them back to Pierce.
The soldier gave up the chase and bent over gasping, having long ago lost sight of the woman. A glimpse of gold caught his eye. Curious, he examined it. It could only have been the blonde hair of the woman he was chasing. He almost left it, but a malicious grin stole over his face. Gently untangling the hair, he slipped the gold locks into his pocket.
Hawkeye fought to stay conscious, the bullet wound in his previously good leg shooting pain throughout his entire body. Slithering over to his medical bag, he applied a local anesthetic and wrapped the wound. He couldn't operate on himself, and dared not take any morphine. He had to be alert and awake when the soldier returned, or he might not have the opportunity to wake up ever again. The scalpel caught his attention, and he slipped it into his pocket. Hawkeye knew there was a very slim chance that he could escape. So slim, in fact, that the soldier had not bothered to tie him up to keep him there. There was no way he could walk, nevertheless run. He pushed himself to stand on his right leg as he heard the soldier returning. Leaning against the wall, Hawkeye struggled to stay upright.
The soldier walked in, gun drawn. Pierce's pitiful effort to bandage his wounds seemed to amuse the soldier. Pierce peered past him, looking for Margaret. The soldier holstered his weapon and gestured towards the door. Hawkeye nodded suspiciously, wanting more information about Margaret's flight. The soldier smiled lecherously and licked his lips, implying something that drove Pierce to a horrified rage.
"If you touched her..." Hawkeye threatened. The soldier laughed and made a woman's shape with his hands, whistling. Pierce snarled and shook his head.
"You liar!" He said in disgust, hoping that the man was only lying. The man pulled out the lock of hair and sniffed it, grinning maliciously. Pierce's eyes grew wide at the sight of the man's trophy.
"Margaret." He moaned, sickened at the thought of what the man had done to her. The man made a slicing gesture across his throat with the hair and shrugged nonchalantly.
"Margaret!" Hawkeye cried, flinging himself towards the soldier, scalpel drawn. Stabbing down, the scalpel pierced the soft skin next to the soldier's neck. Pierce fell to the floor, support gone, as the soldier backpedaled and raised his gun in his good arm. The blood gushed from his wound, but he ignored it, enraged by Pierce's actions. Seeing his captive helpless on the floor, the soldier kicked out, hitting Hawkeye in the ribs. Hawkeye cried out, curling into a fetal position to protect himself. The soldier continued kicking, sending Pierce writhing across the floor. Hawkeye felt like he was kicking himself, the blame and guilt for Margaret's ignominious fate fell squarely on his shoulders. A kick caught him in the temple, and all was silence.
Margaret trudged across the arid landscape, eyes open for danger. The subtle whirring of chopper blades broke through the morose thoughts that pervaded her mind. Thoughts of Pierce, helpless and dieing, all for her. She waved wildly, trying to get their attention. She succeeded, but there was no place for them to set down. Hovering as low as they could, BJ shouted down at her.
"Margaret, where's Hawkeye!"
"Two miles north! Hut!" She responded.
"Out of gas! Meet you there, hour!" BJ shouted as they lifted into the air.
Margaret waved at the retreating chopper and began the long walk back to the hut. What she was going to do once she got there, she didn't know. She just hoped Hawkeye was still around to be saved.
Margaret snuck up to the back of the hut and peeked in. To her surprise, the North Korean soldier lay dead in the doorway, a scalpel protruding from his clavicle. He had bled to death, the scalpel severing a main artery. Margaret's thoughts automatically flew to Pierce. He had managed to kill his captor, but at what cost? The soldier would have taken at least several minutes to be incapacitated by his wound, but what could he have done to Pierce in the meantime? Margaret stood, stepping over the soldier's body, and looked for Pierce. She finally spotted him, curled up in the corner like a bag of refuse, face coated in blood. Running to his side, she examined his beaten body. He'd been shot in his good leg, and had obviously bandaged it himself. His head still leaked blood from his temple, and his eyes were swollen shut. His nose was probably broken and his tender lips split. He was quite a mess, and she was shocked when he stirred at her touch. He whimpered, trying to protect himself from another beating. She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to calm him.
"Shh. It's okay. It's me, Margaret."
"Margaret?" He whispered, trying to open his eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Margaret. I'm sorry I didn't hold him off longer. It's my fault he hurt you, killed you." Hawkeye whispered.
"Hurt me? Hawkeye..." Margaret said, bewildered.
"You were so afraid of rape, and I did nothing to stop him, nothing. I'm so sorry." Pierce said, moaning in mental anguish, tears escaping his swollen eyes.
"Pierce, he never touched me. I'm fine." She said insistently, grabbing his hand.
"Margaret? You're alive?" Hawkeye asked frantically.
"Of course."
"I thought you were dead. I thought you were just in my head. I think I have a concussion." Pierce mumbled. He gripped her hand suddenly, breath coming in pants.
"You have to run! He'll be back any second! You shouldn't have come back. Run, Margaret!" Pierce said anxiously, tensed for the soldier's return.
"You killed him, Hawkeye. He's dead."
"Dead?" Pierce asked, relaxing.
"Yes. And BJ is coming with a helicopter any minute. We're going home." Margaret said. Pierce smiled painfully. All of a sudden, he coughed. Deep wracking coughs that seemed to originate around his toes. Covering his mouth, Hawkeye tried to stop. Margaret supported him as he sat up, medical analyses flying around in her head. Pierce finally stifled his coughs and laid back down, hand clenched into a fist.
"You okay?" Margaret asked, concerned.
"Yah." Pierce lied, eyes fluttering towards his clenched fist. Margaret rolled her eyes in frustration.
"I can always tell when you're lying. What's in your hand?" Margaret asked, reaching towards it.
"Margaret, no!" Pierce whispered, pulling away. She grabbed his wrist, and he turned towards the wall as she pried his hand open. A puddle of partially coagulated brown blood filled his palm. She gasped.
"Oh, God! How long have you been like this?"
"Don't know. Woke up a while ago, worse since." Hawkeye said between coughs. As his hand came away from his mouth, blood leaked from the corners. He looked up at her, sorrow in his eyes. She wiped away the blood and held him close, hoping her arms could give him the strength to survive.
"You'll be fine." She whispered. He chuckled.
"Margaret, I'm a doctor. False reassurance doesn't work when you can diagnose yourself. Gray pallor, distended, painful abdomen, coughing up blood. We've seen enough of this to know."
"Shh." She interrupted him, not wanting to hear the painful truth.
"Margaret, I just wanted you to know that these last couple of days I've gotten to know the real you, and I love her. Don't hide who you are." Pierce was interrupted by more coughs, painfully wracking his abused body. She held him close as his coughs slowed, then finally stopped.
"Hawkeye, I..." She was interrupted by the sound of a chopper.
"Listen, Hawkeye! It's BJ! We're going home." She said happily. He didn't respond. Loosening her hold, Margaret looked down at him. His azure blue eyes stared gently back at her, lacking some little spark. Her eyes filled with tears as she lowered him to the ground. BJ ran in, sliding to a stop in the doorway.
"Margaret, Hawk, come on! We've got to..." He faded out as Margaret sobbed, kneeling in front of Hawkeye.
"Hawk?" BJ asked, coming into the hut. His friend's eyes stared lifelessly at the roof, and BJ's breath left him.
"No, Hawk. No!" He screamed, collapsing to his knees and examining Hawkeye's body, trying to see if he could still save him. It was hopeless. The sound of the chopper blades grew louder for a moment, the pilot signaling that time was running out. Tears streaming down his face, BJ lifted his friend's body and walked towards the chopper. Margaret followed, back straight and proud, always the good soldier. The good soldier image was only marred by the streaks of clean down her dusty cheeks. The perfect non-soldier lay boneless in his friend's arms, his eyes forever staring. The two person funeral procession was oddly perfect for the man whose close friends could be counted by one hand, but those he loved outnumbered the stars.
End