Hawkeye yawned and stretched as he got out of bed. His first morning on the wagon was an early one, and as he pulled his bathrobe on he smirked at his two sleeping bunkmates. No doubt they would be surly and grouchy when they awoke later, but right now Hawkeye was marveling at how refreshed and clear-headed he felt.
After a shower and a shave, he stepped out into the fresh morning air and took a deep breath. He didn't have a watch, but he guessed it was still early; no one was moving about yet. The sun was rising over the mountains and he sat down on a folding chair to marvel at the sight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a sunrise. It was probably before his mother had died, he realized, and he just sat there and watched as the dawn gave way to the morning. After a while of letting the sun glare down on him, Hawkeye stood and walked back to the showers. One more wouldn't hurt.
He almost made it through the day without snapping at someone, and when he did he immediately regretted it. Margaret gave him a warning look mixed with sympathy, and he apologized.
"It's alright," she forgave him instantly, knowing what a shock his body was going through as it cleansed itself of alcohol. "Just don't let it happen again, Captain." There was a teasing note to her tone, and Hawkeye smiled at her as he continued his rounds.
The next morning, he awoke as early as the day before, only this time there was a glass of water and two aspirin sitting on his bedside table. Potter had said something the night before about taking something to help with the withdrawal headaches, and Hawkeye thanked the old man silently as he gulped them down.
After snapping at BJ over a pen and griping about the stench in post-op, Hawkeye stalked away in a horrible mood. His mind screamed at him to just have one quick glass to take the edge off, but right before he reached the Swamp he detoured quickly toward the makeshift basketball court. He stripped down to his t-shirt and grabbed the ball from the footlocker where it was stored. For two solid hours he dribbled, ran, and shot until he collapsed from exhaustion. Now and then, one or two people would stop and watch him for a moment before resuming their business. Margaret and BJ even stopped by after their shift in post-op and passed the ball around with him for a while, but both gave up after it was clear that he was going to outlast them.
"Well," he told himself as he donned his olive green jacket, "2 for 7,000 ain't bad." He stowed the ball away and very nearly crawled toward the showers to clean up before lunch. After a horrible meal that could barely be called food, he relieved a still-fuming Charles in post-op and spent most of the time taking detailed medical histories from each patient. Only when Kellye pulled the clipboard from his hand did he take the hint and sit at the desk.
When he made it back to the Swamp, Charles was nowhere in sight. He asked BJ and received a shrug in response.
"I went to dinner with Margaret and Colonel Potter, and when I got back he was gone." BJ watched his friend fold, unfold, and refold his towels. "How goes the prohibition?"
"I tell you, I have this bundle of energy inside that I guess I always used to power through drinks. But now, my body has no idea what to do with it." Hawkeye began pacing back and forth, his arms flailing about as he spoke.
"Well, I'm gonna turn in. Why don't you go for a jog?"
"I'm not sure my legs will agree with that. They're on the verge of filing for divorce as it is with the two hour basketball session I put them through." BJ hummed a response and laid down. Hawkeye sat on his bed for all of three seconds before he was off again and pacing around. Finally, he decided that total exhaustion was better than this nervous energy, so he dropped to the floor and began doing push-ups. When he got to fifty and realized he still had way too much energy, he began propelling himself up off the floor between each one in an attempt to tire his muscles out.
"Hawkeye," BJ warned from his bunk.
"What's the matter, you can't sleep?" Hawkeye said between exercises. BJ cracked a joke about health clubs as he pushed himself off the floor and darted over to his bed. He grabbed some rolled up socks and began juggling. Charles' debauched entrance halted Hawkeye's energetic interlude, and only when BJ stormed out in a huff did Hawkeye finally settle down for the night.
Four days into his self-imposed dry spell, Hawkeye was beginning to wear on everyone's nerves. He knew he was being a pain, but even aware of it he couldn't help it. He kept forgetting to thank Colonel Potter, who continued to supply him with water and aspirin every morning, but he was grateful nonetheless. The headaches were getting worse, and so too was his mood.
By the time evening rolled around, Hawkeye was sulking in his tent. Margaret had blown up at him over breakfast, and Nurse Mendenhall wasn't speaking to him after his little soapbox session in the stock room. Deciding he didn't want to go back to the Swamp and listen to Charles' rant against Italians or BJ criticizing every move he made, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked out to the edge of camp.
"It's just me," he told the tree he'd raved at all those months ago. "Ever feel like the whole world is against you? Yeah, I know, I'm overreacting. But I can't help it." He leaned against the trunk and looked up at the night sky. He tried to keep up appearances at camp; be the light-hearted, carefree draftee doctor they loved. But out here on his own, his shoulders sagged and his face was weary.
"Almost a week ago, I joked about setting up a still in my living room when the war is over. But the thing is…I wasn't joking. I'm scared that this place – this hellhole – has changed me."
"It has," a voice cut through his monologue, and he whirled around. Margaret was standing behind him with her hands clasped in front of her nervously. Instantly, his demeanor changed, and he grinned at her as he drew himself up.
"Why Margaret, to what do I owe the honor? Here to scream at me some more for being unreasonable and grouchy?"
She felt a little twinge of pain as his jovial defense came up, but she dismissed it almost instantly. She had been the one to push him away, and he was protecting himself the only way he knew how. Now, however, was no time for Hawkeye Pierce to make jokes.
"You know, that attitude might work on anyone else but me. Come on, we know each other too well for this." She waved her hand at him to indicate his false demeanor. She stepped closer as he fell back against the tree. "And to answer you again, this place has changed you; it's changed us all. But it's not necessarily a bad thing."
"So you don't think I'm an alcoholic?" he asked her, only half-joking.
"I think you're trying to cope with a situation that's over your head. Ben, you pull young men from the brink of death, sew them back together again, and some of them go right back out to get torn apart. Everyone copes somehow. If you don't cope, you don't survive." She joined him against the trunk, her head falling back to look up at the sky with him. She felt as well as heard him sigh next to her.
"Would you do me a favor?" he asked softly.
"Sure," she answered immediately.
"When this week is over, and I go back to drinking again…will you watch out for me? Make sure I don't start down that road? I've seen what it does to people – to families – and I don't want that for me."
She didn't know what he was talking about, but she nodded all the same. "Of course I will. Now will you come back to the camp? It's getting cold out here."
Despite the distance that was currently between them, he felt grateful that she had come after him. He pushed himself away from the tree and slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked back to camp together.
Despite one brief, terrifying moment, OR the next day went pretty smoothly. But after the North Korean soldier had tried to blow them all back home, the senior staff of the 4077th made a beeline for the O Club as soon as the last patient was wheeled out. As Potter extolled the Father's sharp eyes and nimble fingers, Hawkeye slumped down in the seat at the end of the bar.
"Well, I'm buying a round of drinks, and they're all for you," Potter told Mulcahy. As everyone picked their poison, Hawkeye willed his heart to stop thrumming in his chest. Margaret ordered a neat scotch next to him, and he steeled his nerves.
"Same here," he said somberly, not at all surprised when five sets of eyes turned to him in amazement.
"Hawk, did I hear you right?" BJ's voice was laced with shock, and Potter's face held a trace of surprise as well.
"Pierce, you hopping off the wagon?"
Hawkeye took a deep breath and creased his brow. "I just spent five minutes serenading a guy who was holding our lives in the palm of his hand."
"Oh Hawkeye, don't give up now." Father Mulcahy's tone was the worst, not quite condescending but disappointed all the same.
"You've only got two more days to go," Margaret's voice was the most sympathetic, but there was something else underneath. He knew she was remembering her promise to him, but he still couldn't get his nerves to stop doing the Jitterbug.
"Let the boy make up his own mind, folks," Potter intervened with his fatherly wisdom. "If Carrie Nation had been in that OR with us, she'd be getting a little juiced herself about now." Igor deposited their drinks in front of them as BJ offered one last condolence, and Hawkeye grabbed his quickly.
"Look, I'll admit it. I need this drink, alright?" He put some bite into his tone to get them to back off, but as he lifted the glass he caught Margaret's eye. The look she gave him was full of understanding and compassion, but there was a concern beneath them that made him hesitate for a second. After only a moment more, he set the glass back down.
"I'll be back when I want it, not when I need it." He stood up and walked out, completely missing the proud looks that followed him. He went back to the scrub room and changed back into his greens, taking some time to clean up a little. It was his turn in post op tomorrow, and the later he could sleep off their latest adventure the better.
Charles was on duty in post op that night, but he stopped by anyway to check on a few of his cases. While he was there, they waxed poetic on the state of the enemy lying peacefully in one of the furthest beds while ignoring BJ's protests for silence.
On his way back to the Swamp, Hawkeye glanced at Margaret's tent. The lights were out, which meant she was probably up for the early shift the next morning. Deciding to thank her tomorrow, he continued on into the empty Swamp.
He didn't notice it until he was changed and climbing into his bunk, but a bottle of aspirin, as well as a note, had been left on his pillow. His name – his given name – was scrawled neatly on the front. Since there was only one person in his camp – probably this country – who called him by his first name, he was smiling as he opened the letter.
I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. I know this past week hasn't been easy, but you did it. I hope we can all be as strong as you when this mess is over. Your friend always, Margaret Houlihan
He couldn't contain the grin that split his face, and he felt his heartbeat quicken with hope for just a moment. Maybe things between him and Margaret weren't irreparable after all. Before he laid down to sleep, he folded the note back up and tucked it safely in his copy of The Last of the Mohicans, right next to a picture of his mother.
Next up: "Old Soldiers"