- In Love And War -
Chapter Five: Blood and Rats
"He's holding up well," Potter murmured, pausing to watch as I fixed a lacerated aorta.
"He's adapting," I agreed, watching BJ's back as he pieced together a soldier's leg. He still got a little pale every time we stepped into the O.R., but he could handle the blood and the death as well as could be expected after only two and a half weeks. He was always quiet after we left the O.R., but Trap and I could usually get him unquieted with our moonshine gin. We'd managed to loosen him a bit, too—though I'd done most of the loosening, since Trapper still seemed to be nursing his jealousy, despite our frequent sojourns into the supply tent.
"I got a pair of hands, if anyone needs 'em," Trapper announced, stepping away from his table.
"I could use a little help," BJ called.
If I hadn't been listening for it, I probably wouldn't have heard the slight pause before Trapper said brightly, "Sure thing, BJ. Be right there. Nurse, glove me—glove me with all your heart." I held Trapper's eyes for a moment, trying to look stern; he winked and went to join BJ. "Damn, this kid's a mess. Sorry, Father."
"Oh, that's quite all right, my son. I understand the incredible stress you're all under, and it's hardly…"
Blood spurted from the chest cavity, covering me from scrub cap to apron and everything in between. "Shit—! Baker, clamp that—clamp it, damnit!"
"You all right, Pierce?" Potter demanded.
"Suction—I can't see anything. Suction, Baker! What're you doing?"
"Sorry, doctor—"
"Don't be sorry, just do it! There we go—ah, there you are, you little bastard. Found you."
"Whatcha got, Hawk?" Trapper called.
"Shrapnel, lodged in the pulmonary artery. Clamp… Pull that back a little…"
"You need help?"
"No, no, don't mind me. Just plucking bits of metal out of a baby's chest."
"What's wrong, Pierce?" Frank sneered, and I could just imagine the glee in his tiny little eyes. "War getting to you today?"
"Frank, if you don't shut up, my foot is gonna be lodged up your—"
"That's enough," Potter ordered at the same moment Father Mulcahy, aghast, exclaimed, "Hawkeye!"
"Sorry, folks, you'll have to tune in next week to hear the rest of the show. There!" I threw the final piece of shrapnel into the dish. "Baker, my dear, would you close for me? Anyone need a hand? What about you, butter-fingers?"
"I'm doing just fine!" Frank shouted in that lovely high-pitched voice of his. "Keep your nose in your own beeswax."
"All right, then—Klinger, bring me another body."
Klinger stuck his head into the room and said cheerfully, "No more, sir. The Colonel got the last one."
"No more?" I repeated. "How's that possible?"
"Maybe they've declared peace," BJ suggested.
"No, they wouldn't let you out of it that easy. Well," I said, trying to wipe some of the blood off my arms with my apron, "since no one needs me, I'll be in the shower if anyone needs me, and unless it's a soft, willing nurse, no one had better need me."
I was in the middle of scrubbing and soaping off as many layers of skin as I needed to in order to clean the blood out of my pores, when the door opened. Enter—BJ. "Hello, sailor," I said cheerfully. "You come here often?"
"Only after a day like today," he said tiredly, hanging up his bathrobe and getting into the other stall. "You've, uh, got a little blood in your hair."
Growling, I grabbed my bar of soap and attacked my head with it, then doused myself with water. My hair was plastered flat to my skull, covering my eyes completely, when I turned to look at BJ and ask, "Better?"
"Much. You almost look normal like that."
The door opened again; I shook my head like a dog to clear my sight, and BJ and Trapper both shouted protests. "Hello, sailor," I said to Trapper. "You come here often?"
"You already asked me that," BJ pointed out.
"I know, and you still haven't bought me a drink."
"You gonna be much longer in there, Hawk?" Trap demanded. "There're other people who want to get clean, too, you know."
"I'll be done when I'm done," I said, running my hand back through my hair to keep it out of my eyes. Trapper harrumphed and shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning his shoulder against the wall and watching, seeing everything. I was glad the water was cold.
"Hey, Trapper," BJ said, "I wanted to thank you for helping me with that kid's leg."
Trapper shrugged, said modestly, "It was nothing."
"It won't be nothing to that kid. I don't think I could've saved the leg without your help."
"You did most of the work," Trapper said. "I was just there for, uh, moral support." He smirked faintly. "You do good work, BJ."
Surprised, I raised my eyebrows inquisitively at Trapper, then turned to look at BJ, who was slightly flushed with happiness, grinning, his eyes sparkling. Ah, those eyes, the wonderful eyes…and once you noticed the eyes, you couldn't help but notice the mouth, the slightly lopsided grin and perfect white teeth; and then the firm chin, of course, sprinkled with the faintest of stubble; and once you'd gotten that far, it hardly made sense not to go on to the neck, the corded muscle and bobbing Adam's apple, blending seamlessly into those strong, broad shoulders; and then it was only a few more inches down to the chest, muscular, beautifully sculpted, slightly hairy, with a trail of hair leading down further; and if you leaned forward just a little, you could follow the path of the hair, down, down—
"Hawkeye?"
My eyes snapped back up to his face, the quizzical expression. "What?" I demanded, trying not to sound guilty, hoping my face wasn't as red as it felt.
"That's what I was about to ask you." BJ was still smiling faintly, looking like he was trying not to laugh, and his eyes were still— No, damnit! Stop!
"I, uh, I—I thought I saw a rat," I said, and quickly looked away from him. Thank God the water was cold.
"Oh." Amusement in his voice, tone clearly implying that he didn't believe me for a second. I couldn't say I blamed him.
"Was it a big rat?" Trapper asked, grinning shamelessly from ear to ear.
"Yes," I snapped. "Huge. Bigger than any other rat I've ever seen." I yanked the chain to shut off the water and stepped out of the stall, unashamedly giving myself over to Trapper's grinning scrutiny as I toweled myself dry. As he stepped into the stall, I grabbed my bathrobe, tied it firmly around myself, and announced, "I'm leaving now." Grab the cowboy hat off the hook, shove it on my head, and walk proudly out the door.
"We'll miss you, dear," Trap called after me.
The Swamp was empty, quiet, peaceful, and I dropped onto my cot with a relieved sigh, tilting my hat down over my eyes. I should have been tired, but I wasn't, not really; I just wanted a little peace—peace from the world, and peace from my own damn mind. But not matter how hard I thought about not thinking, no matter how much I swore at myself, no matter how many memories about dirt and blood and death and everything else I hated that I pulled up, even in the darkness inside my hat, I still saw blue. Why? Why did his eyes follow me everywhere? Nurse Watson had blue eyes, and I didn't spend every waking minute thinking about them. Margaret had blue eyes, but they didn't haunt my dreams. All right, so it wasn't the color of the eyes—then what? If only I could make sense, just once. Things would be that much easier.
TBC