Had to make a small adjustment in the earlier chapter, because I realised that Lt. Carpenter doesn't show up until much later in the story. I put Harris in instead, since she's also one of my favourite nurses in the series :)
Chapter 4 – Scheme á la Winchester
Once again in her green suit, Agnes went straight to Colonel Potter's office and after he had permitted her a call home, Radar promised he would try to get through to her parents in Philadelphia the first thing in the morning. The prospect of talking to her mother and father for the first time in a month renewed her energy and Agnes even caught herself looking forward to dinner, no matter what awaited her in the mess tent. She bumped in to the young chaplain in the food line.
"Good evening, Father."
"Ah, hello, Captain," Father Mulcahy said, smiling at her. "I'm glad to see the OR session haven't left you all worn-out."
"If it had, I would be too tired to notice." Agnes picked up a tray and leaned forward to get a look at the serving table. "Do you know what's on the menu?"
"I'm still plucking up the courage to ask," the priest responded, sounding wary.
They inched forward, when the line moved and Agnes realized that the sergeant handing out food looked familiar. It took her a few seconds to recall that he was the one who had given her the orange juice the same morning. Funny, it felt like this morning was days ago.
"Hey, I know you," the sergeant said, when she reached the serving table. He winked at her. "Captain loan-only. How was the juice?"
"I never actually got to taste it," she admitted. "I ended up giving it to someone else."
"Oh, sorry to hear that."
"Me too, but he deserved it more than I."
Speaking of the sun, when she moved to the coffee dispenser, she spotted Charles in the crowd. Despite the tent being half full, he was sitting by himself, a leather-bound book open in front of him. None of the nurses seemed very eager to join him and the enlisted men were clearly ignoring him. Having witnessed his superior behavior towards the corpsmen in OR on first hand, so she could hardly blame them – but she still couldn't help but to feel bad for him.
She leaned towards Father Mulcahy, who was filling his coffee cup, and whispered:
"He's not the most popular person in this camp, is he, Major Winchester?"
"It hasn't been easy for him to adjust to our ways here," Father Mulcahy responded quietly, after he had followed her gaze to the lonesome major. "He's used to a certain standard, which I'm afraid is quite hard to accomplish in a place such as this."
And his ego isn't making it any easier for him, Agnes thought.
"You think he wants company?"
"Even if he did, he would never admit it," Mulcahy responded with a small, knowing smile. They walked to Charles' table and Agnes sat her tray down next to his.
"Good evening, Major. Mind if we join you?"
Charles looked up and smiled at her.
"Not at all," he said, closing the book. "This excuse of a meal requires company beyond average." He nodded to the priest. "Father."
Good grief, a whole sentence without him disparaging anyone – present at least. I think we are making progress.
"What were you reading?"
"Spinoza," Charles responded, tucking the book into his chest pocket. "On the Improvement of the Understanding."
"Spinoza?" Mulcahy said. "The philosopher?"
"Indeed."
"Oh," Agnes said, which was about the brightest response she could come up with. She had never been much for philosophy – and she hadn't the faintest idea of who this Spinoza-fella was. Thankfully, Mulcahy changed the subject before Charles noticed the awkward pause:
"My, it's funny how the food almost taste good, when you're starving," the priest noted merrily, after he with great caution had tried a spoonful of creamed potatoes.
Charles speared a piece of what Agnes assumed was meat and hold it up to his face, glaring at it with eyes narrowing in discontent: "I do envy you your amenable taste buds, Father."
"Oh, come on, Major Grouser," Agnes said lightheartedly, "it could be a lot worse. When I was visiting the 8055th, they served a soup that tasted the way my grandparents' basement smelled after it had been flooded for a week."
"Your attempt to justify this swill, Captain," Charles responded dryly and drowned the meat in tomato sauce before eating it, "is admirably, but the fact that our kitchen has the lowest population of rats in all of Korea, should be considered some kind of warning sign."
Agnes shrugged and chewed through a mouthful of beans.
"Maybe they are just trying to avoid KP – rats are not senseless creatures, you know."
"Are you telling me, we are being outsmarted by vermin?"
"Well, it's certainly not the rats who are killing each other in the second year, because both sides are too proud to even consider ceasefire, now, is it?"
Charles looked like he couldn't decide whether to scoff, frown or snort and he ended up with a reluctant: "Touché."
"Howdy, children," came Colonel Potters rough voice from behind them. "Is seven a crowd?"
He scooted in next to Agnes, while BJ took a seat beside Charles. Radar and the infamous Klinger, now in a delicate pink and flowery dress, sat down on Mulcahy's side of the table. The Lebanese corporal greeted Agnes with a wide grin.
"Doctor Clearwater, I presume? How wonderful it is to meet you. I'm corporal Maxwell Kli…"
"Klinger, I have already warned her about you," Potter intervened calmly, "and no – she won't sign your section 8."
Klinger's smile faded. "Aw… Well, you can't blame a girl for trying."
"Sorry," Agnes said with a chuckle. "The Colonel nearly made me take a vow. It is a wonderful dress though. I could never wear a color like that myself; with my complexion, I just end up looking like a sick ghost."
"It's the blessing of my Mediterranean genes," Klinger responded with a toothy smile. He then squinted and looked Agnes up and down. "But you're right. For your skin tone, I would definitely recommend something darker. I have just the prettiest peacock blue dress…"
"Klinger," Charles cut through in a strained tone, "must we partout endure your abnormal occupation with woman's wear during meals? Isn't it enough we have to look at it all day long?"
"Why, you certainly are a ray of sunshine today, Major," Potter noticed. "What's the matter? Have your Earl Grey Tea gone spoiled?"
"He's just jealous, because he can't find a dress that makes his legs look that good," BJ sniggered. Charles ignored him completely.
"With all due respect, Colonel, what did you expect with six hours of sleep in the last two days?"
"I think you need some cheering up, Winchester – why don't you join the rest of us in the Officers Club afterwards? We have to celebrate that Captain Clearwater passed her first 4077th-OR session with flying colors."
Charles opened his mouth to object, but then a flash of something crossed his blue eyes and he appeared to change his mind.
"You know what, Colonel," he said, a lot milder than Agnes had hear him speak all day. "That's not a bad idea. When I have checked up on my patient from this morning, I think I will. When is – uh – Pierce done in Post-Up?"
"BJ's reliving him about 10 p.m.," Potter responded.
"Oh, good," Charles said with a slight simper that made Potter and BJ exchange frowns.
oOo
The Officers Club was crowded and noisy and half the guest were already more or less drunk. Unsurprisingly. Agnes squeezed in around a corner table with Colonel Potter, Radar and Charles. The older men glared at her when she ordered the same as Radar – a Grape Nehi.
"What? I can't call my mum or show up at Sunday service with a head on."
"I wish the rest of this camp had just a touch of your conscience," Potter rumbled, before he and Radar left to get the drinks. "Counting me."
"You don't mind the rest of us drinking?" Charles questioned.
"No, not at all. That's the funniest thing about staying sober – watching the rest of you behave like loonys."
"In this camp you don't have to be around sozzled people to perceive such behavior," Charles said, offering her the bowl of pretzels. "Just spend an afternoon cooped up in a tent with Pierce and Hunnicutt and you'd wish you were intoxicated."
Agnes chuckled. "They really are one of a kind, aren't they?"
"Of the finest buffoons, this camp has ever seen," Charles professed, as their drinks arrived. "The walking cracker joke machine and his trusted halfwit."
"Go easy on that stuff, Captain," Potter warned Agnes in a paternally tone. "It'll make you sweat purple for a week."
Radar lowered his bottle at once, looking uneasy. "It will?"
Potter patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, son, I'm pretty sure you're immune after all this time." He sat down next to Agnes. "Now, Captain, I have been dying to know more about your stay on the hospital ship. Heard a lot about them, but never been on one myself."
"Indeed," Charles said, sipping his cognac. "How on earth did you manage that?"
Agnes smiled impishly.
"Sometime it's swell to know someone, who knows someone who pulls all the important strings. My father has a very good friend back in Denmark, who is the brother of Captain Hammerich, the senior officer on board. It required a weekend of urgent persuasion, while the ship was back home, but the Captain gave in at last. Of course, it helped that they were short on orthopedic surgeons and that I'm fluent in both English and Danish."
"Oh, you've got Viking blood in you, have you?"
"Partly. My father is from Denmark. He immigrated to Pennsylvania, when he was 22."
"Hey, I know a Danish word," Radar added and raised his bottle. "Skål."
Agnes laughed. "Impressive. Who taught you that?"
"My uncle Ed," the boy responded, sheepishly proud. "He can drink in seven different language."
Charles, who had been watching the door, glanced at the clerk with a haughty smirk, before turning to Agnes.
"Your name is a bit of a mystery to me," he said. "'Clearwater' doesn't sound very Scandinavian."
Agnes smiled, shaking her head. "No, my father was born 'Kjærgård', but no one in this country can pronounce it, least of all spell it, so he took my mother's name, when they got married."
"How… wonderfully outré," Charles responded evenly. Agnes responded with a knowing smirk.
"It saved a lot of broken tongues."
She continued the conversation with Potter about her stay at the hospital ship, while Charles drifted in and out occasionally, when he could break attention away from his cognac and the door. He was clearly waiting for someone, but Agnes couldn't quite figure out who – and with her back to the door, she couldn't even peak secretly to find out. The O-Club got fuller and fuller still, but the Major ignored them all. Just when Agnes had started to find his behavior slightly rude, he suddenly put down his empty glass, granted her his most amiable smile and said:
"My, I need to stretch my legs. Care for a dance, Captain?"
Agnes hesitated for a second, just as long as it took Charles to get up from his chair. She should say no; she had already said no to Hawkeye, but her curiosity got the better of her, when she realized Charles intended to dance to… Doris Day.
"Sure. I must say, you don't quite strike me as a Doris Day-man?"
"We all have our hamartia," Charles retorted dryly, as he led her out on the fairly bare area between the tables and the bar that doubled as the dance floor.
"Is that so? I happen to like her."
"My point exactly," Charles responded with just a hint of a smug smile and Agnes rolled her eyes, more good-heartedly than she intended. She forgave to easily, but now that Charles had finally stopped his door-glaring and instead had his full attention on her, he was a very capable dance partner.
"Tell me, Captain," he said in a lofty tone, when two corpsmen climbed the bar, singing along to 'Tea for Two' at the top of their plastered lungs, "were the parties on board the ship equally as entertaining?"
Agnes chuckled. "Rarely. You guys sure know how to have fun."
Charles put up a mock offended expression. "I do hope you know that I'm certainly not one of the 'guys'."
"Yes, I had started to realize that…"
Someone in the crowd of dancing bodies struck Agnes, causing her to stumble forward and bump rather forcefully into Charles. The brief second her pelvis grazed his and her chest was pressed against him, she was overwhelmed by the warmth of his body and the dark, masculine scent of his cologne. She hadn't been so close to anyone since…
"Pardon me, Major," she spoke quickly, stepping back to safe distance, her face flushed.
Charles looked down at her, a crooked smile tucking at his lips.
"Not to worry… Captain. No harm done," he responded, his voice just a tad softer and deeper than usual, and to her surprise – and slight embarrassment – Agnes felt the flush in her cheeks turn into an actual blushing. Damn him. That man could be so ruthlessly charming when he wanted to.
"Hi, there!" came a sudden excitable voice from the throng. "Mind if I cut in?"
"As a matter of fact…" Charles began, but the person had already grabbed Agnes by the arm and hauled her towards the piano, as far away from Charles as possible. Turning her head in surprise, Agnes met Hawkeye's water blue eyes. He winked at her and put his arm around her waist, swirling her around to the music.
"Don't mention it," he said with a generous smile, "it was my pleasure."
"What was?" Agnes asked, slightly confused.
"Saving you from Major Ego."
Behind her dance partners arm, she caught a glimpse of Charles. He had returned to Potter's table and was following Hawkeye's every move with a fuming glare.
Agnes looked up at the dark-haired surgeon and raised a brow. "I had no idea I needed saving?"
"I saw the silent cry for help in your dreamy eyes," Hawkeye chirped. "Who am I to turn down a damsel in distress?"
"Mmm," Agnes responded neutrally.
"I've heard you are engaged," Hawkeye said, completely out of the blue. "Congrats."
"Thanks."
"Problems at home?"
Agnes looked up at him, feeling a sudden familiar tension in her chest.
"Why do you say that?" she asked warily.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just… unusual to leave one's fiancé behind and travel to the other side of the world – voluntarily. I do hope everything's just fine between you."
Agnes hesitated.
"It is," she said. "I just wanted to help."
The song ended. They were so close to the bar, they could practically just turn around and take a seat on the chairs. Hawkeye gestured to a vacant one.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
"Uh, no thanks, I don't drink," Agnes responded quickly. "Besides, I promised your chaplain I would stop by the service tomorrow morning and it's getting quite late, so…"
"Right, of course," Hawkeye said, trying not to dwell too much on her evasive tone. "I… I'll see you tomorrow then"
"Thanks for the dance. Good night."
Hawkeye watched her leave. The door had just barely closed behind her, when a voice chuckled maliciously in his ear:
"Well, well, Pierce. I thought you were infallible with the fairer sex."
"Oh, go lick on the generator," Hawkeye muttered and left to join Potter and Radar at their table, leaving Charles behind. The Bostonian surgeon smiled to himself, before zigzagging his way out of the Officers Club and out into the chilly evening. He had planned to stroll back to the Swamp, perhaps enjoy the memory of Pierce's face, when he had seen him dance with Agnes and then go to sleep himself, but when he came into earshot of Agnes' quarters, he heard music: A classical, but unknown piece – beautiful and melancholy at the same time. He walked slower and slower, until he found himself standing still in the middle of the compound, listening. Then, by reasons even unknown to himself, he turned on his heels and headed for the V.I.P. tent.
After a couple of long seconds, she answered his three knocks with a tentative: "Yes?"
"It's Ch… Major Winchester."
Agnes opened the door and looked up at him in pending silence. With the light from the tent behind her, her eyes seemed positively dark, almost black.
Charles cleared his throat.
"You left so sudden, I just wanted to make sure Pierce hadn't offended you with his lewd manners."
Agnes smiled a little, though it seemed partly forced.
"No, I'm sorry," she responded. "It wasn't anything like that. It's just been a long day and I'm beat."
"Of course." Charles eyes wandered through the tent without him really thinking about it. He noticed that the silver frame with the picture of her and her fiancé had been laid flat down on the table, backside up. "As long as everything is fine?"
"It is."
A slightly awkward silence rose between them. He should be going, but the uneasy feeling that something wasn't quite right, nailed him to her door step. The music seemed even sadder now.
"I don't think I'm familiar with this piece," he said. "It's very beautiful."
"Suite for Strings, by Carl Nielsen, a Danish composer. My father is very fond of him." Agnes smiled, a small but genuine smile this time. "It reminds me of Copenhagen. Have you ever been to Copenhagen, Major?"
"Regretfully, no. But I've heard it's a charming little capital."
"Charming doesn't even begin to cover it. It's beautiful: From the vibrant flower lawns in the Kings' Garden to the glowing atmosphere in Tivoli, a warm summer evening…"
Her voice trailed off very suddenly. She swallowed and cleared her throat, then a thin smile flickered across her lips.
"I'm sorry, Charles, I don't want to sound rude, but I better turn in. I really am quite tired."
"The apology is all mine," Charles said softly and withdrew from the doorway. "I'm the one keeping you up. I bid you a good night."
"Good night, Major."