Warnings: Nada. Unless you really like this story, in which case you might experience some sadness due to this being the last chapter.
I could have made this extremely long, with just chapter after chapter of conversations between Hawkeye, BJ, and Sidney…but I think that would have gotten boring and tedious. Therefore, this is the last chapter (unless, of course, I'm struck by a lightning bolt of inspiration). Thanks to all of you who've made it this far, and enjoyed the trip.
- The Sound of Silence -
Chapter Five
BJ was gone—the week had passed, and no matter how much he begged and wheedled, he couldn't get any more time in Tokyo. They needed him back at the 4077th—peace talks were on again, and the generals were trying to grab as much land as they could, which meant wounded pouring in everywhere. They couldn't afford to let a surgeon's hands sit idle. Hawkeye had told his friend he understood—BJ was needed elsewhere, it was fine, they'll come drag you away if you don't go on your own, and how would that look? So they'd said their goodbyes—because who knew if they would ever see each other again? Talking had helped, like Sidney had said it would, and they'd been more like their old selves whenever they'd talked; but Hawkeye could still feel the wall between them, even if it was only the sort of small, decorative wall you put around your garden. So there'd been a measure of awkwardness when BJ had leaned down to hug Hawkeye, and they'd both pulled away quickly, avoiding eye contact and rubbing at their damp cheeks. "Take care of yourself, okay?" BJ had said, gripping Hawkeye's shoulder. "Try not to make too much trouble for the nurses."
"Make some trouble for me back home." Home—when had he started to think of the 4077th as home? He couldn't remember the exact date, but it had happened, and he was homesick.
"Will do," BJ had said with a grin, and then he'd turned away, hefting his travelbag. Hawkeye had watched him go, watched his best friend leave; he didn't feel abandoned, but he did feel a little lost, and very, very lonely.
Sidney had left, too, not long after, having declared Hawkeye mentally fit. That also meant the orderlies had stopped guarding him, which only increased his loneliness. Add to that the fact that the kid who'd been in the bed to Hawk's left, who he'd talked to every once in a while, had been shipped stateside; and the geezer to the right never talked.
Hawkeye was alone, and he felt it. Could feel the darkness creeping in slowly, slowly, sneaking up on him, waiting for the right moment to spring and drown him in it. He held the light around him for as long as he could, but he knew it wasn't enough; it would fade, someday, and the darkness would be able to surround him. All that remained to be seen was how long that would take.
Major Jim Holland, Hawkeye's doctor, stopped by periodically to check on his patient. Each time, Hawkeye would beg, "Send me home or send me somewhere else, please!" And each time Holland would smile and pat Hawkeye's head like he was a little child, and explain that he was worried about the leg, despite Hawkeye's insistence that it was healing just fine. Hawkeye decided that Holland and Frank Burns would have gotten along just fine.
The orderlies seemed to think he liked being wheeled through the park, but he would have much preferred to lay in his bed with one of the books he'd persuaded the orderlies to loan him—anything to read, to keep his mind busy, to keep himself from cracking up again. He'd mentioned chess, and they'd found someone who knew how to play—another patient, a kid who couldn't've been 18. He was missing both his legs from the knees down. They exchanged names, brief histories—he was Billy Skeller, private, infantry; he'd rolled a jeep and gotten crushed beneath it—but they spoke little after that. They played chess for as long as the orderlies would let them, because it kept both of them from thinking of their lives, their situations, and allowed them to merely be lost in the game.
Hawkeye was in his bed, a tray across his lap, writing his name over and over again on a pad of paper. The scribbles were almost intelligible. He tried to ignore Holland, who came strolling into the ward with a grin plastered on his face, but the major stopped at his bed and said, "I've got good news for you, Captain—you're going home."
Hawkeye looked up, blinking in surprise. "Home?" Which home? MASH home, or stateside home?
"That's right," Holland said. "Two days from now, we'll put you on a plane to Honolulu, and from there you go to San Francisco, and then to Spruce Harbor, Maine. That's close to your home, isn't it?"
"Yeah…it's really close." Home…I'm going home. Why didn't it feel true? The words just didn't register—in one ear and out the other, leaving no lasting mark on the place between. Holland started to turn away, but Hawkeye called him back. "Major, is there any chance…any way you could send me back to my old outfit, before I leave? I just—I never got to say goodbye to everyone, and I've still got some of my things there…" And he wanted to go home before he went home.
"You were with a MASH unit?"
"Right, the 4077th. C.O. is Colonel Sherman Potter."
"I'll see what I can do," Holland promised. Which meant, as far as Hawkeye was concerned, that the chance of it happening was zero.
The next day, he was in the middle of a game of chess when an orderly loomed over the board. "Sorry to interrupt the game, but, Captain, there'll be a chopper here for you in about fifteen minutes."
"A chopper?" Hawkeye repeated blankly.
"To take you out to your old unit."
"My…?" Shock, a moment of utter numbness; and then Hawkeye's face broke into a grin that would have lit up the darkest night, and he would've jumped up and started to dance, if he'd been able to. "Well, what're waiting for? Come on!"
They checked all his bandages, rushed him over to the nearest chopper pad, and bundled him into the waiting chopper. He waved to them as the chopper rose into the air and whisked him off towards home. He wouldn't miss any of them, and he certainly wouldn't miss the hospital—but leaving them meant he was one step closer to a better place, the place and the people he would miss.
&.o.&.o.&
Radar's bugle summoned the camp into the compound, and when they'd all assembled, Potter announced in his typical bark, "I have good news, troops. In about an hour, we'll be getting a very special visitor—a certain Captain Pierce." Ranks broke as cheering erupted, and Potter couldn't help but grin along with them. It was the best news they'd had in a very long time. "He'll be staying the night here, and then getting choppered back to Tokyo tomorrow for a flight outta here—they're sending him stateside." More cheering, and Potter waited for it to settle down before calling out, "Let's see what kind of a shindig we can have ready for him!"
&.o.&.o.&
Hawkeye was looking out the windows constantly, searching for anything familiar that would tell him they were close; and when he saw the first familiar landmark, a grin spread slowly over his face, widening as he recognized more and more; and then, finally, there was Rosie's Bar, and there!—MASH 4077, Best Care Anywhere! And the chopper pad, hordes of people crowded at the perimeter, waving, and Hawkeye convinced himself he could hear their cheers. The chopper touched down and the crowd surged forward; BJ and Klinger carefully lifted him from the chopper and into a wheelchair, and the crowd worked its way slowly into the camp, laughing and crying and singing "For he's a jolly good fellow." Into the mess tent, decorated with toilet paper and Klinger's dresses, and anything else the nurses had been able to find, where they toasted Hawkeye again and again; and all were crying and laughing, Hawkeye no exception, because this place and these people had become home to him, a second home, a slice of joy found in the middle of Hell, and no matter how far away he went, this place and these people would always be a part of him. For good or ill, this place and these people had changed him, reshaped him, made him both more and less than what he'd been; and for good or ill, he'd changed each of them; and no matter the physical, mental, or emotional distance between each of them, they would always have this, this place and these people, to bind them together: like a string of light, a lifeline, to help navigate through the darkness; or for some, it was like the darkness itself, clouding the light of the past and the future. For good or ill, they were bound together by time, by their memories and experiences; these people bound to this place and to each other, changed and unchanged, light and dark, the sum total of all their differences and similarities made into a whole by this place, this place that had claimed a piece of each of them, this place that none of them would ever completely leave. So they laughed and cried, sang and danced, drank, and for one night pushed away the darkness with the light of their bond and didn't think of what would happen when the light left; they had the light and, for now, it was enough.
End